


Aha?

by Delicate_Doll



Category: Original Work
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Emotional Manipulation, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Married Couple, Multi, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Linear Narrative, Self-Destructive Behavior, Sexual Coercion, Therapy, Unhealthy Relationships, doubling - Freeform, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:07:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 32,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27377692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delicate_Doll/pseuds/Delicate_Doll
Summary: Don't look at me I'm angy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. Rude

"Guess what day it is."

Lilith took a deep breath, sighing. She knew a trick question when she heard one; the only way to beat them was not playing along. 

"I'm busy, Adam," she said, setting her coffee mug on the drying mat and turning around. "And I asked you not to talk to me today."

"You're coming over this weekend." he said, smiling at her like an idiot as he leaned on the opposite counter.

"I'll have to check my--"

"Not a question, Comet, you're coming over this weekend."

Lilith frowned, out of time to deal with him. She shot him a look, gathered her files, and made to leave. It wasn't altogether a surprise when he reached out to snag her arm, though it was unpleasant, especially as he pressed her to the counter, hips pinning hers. 

"Ask me what day it is, Lilith."

" _Adam--_ "

"You cracked my skull this day last year."

Oh. She wasn't quite expecting that. Adam nibbled on her jaw, pleased as punch she wasn't trying to recreate the incident, even as his hands wandered. 

"Also serves as sort of an anniversary for us, doesn't it?" he asked, without asking. He knew she wasn't sentimental, any date could have marked their one year for all she knew. 

"I guess..." she said, mentally rearranging samples in the lab. She'd asked him not to talk to her for a reason today, too much to do to be playing his vague games. Lilith wanted subject 9K004 on Bowers desk for observation, his progress had-- _ow._ She wanted Adam to go fucking easy on her neck. "Get to the point." 

"Do you know what tomorrow is?" he asked slyly. He did this on purpose, she knew he did. 

"God fucking _dammit_ , Adam! Spit it out before I make throwing you down the damn stairs our tradition." she barked, shoving at his chest. 

He never had the decency to stay off her for more than a second, back to pawing and mouthing. Great. 

Dr. Keaton stepped into the breakroom.

Both Lilith and Adams's heads snapped to the woman, who didn't waste a beat before turning on her heel and walking right back out. 

"Tomorrow's my birthday."

"You were in the hospital last year for your birthday?" Lilith asks without skipping a beat, blinking at him. Hers were never events she looked forward to, but that _was_ admittedly a little shitty. 

"Thanks to you, sweetheart." He muttered into the crook of her neck. She wouldn't be saying sorry. "Think you could make it up to me this year?"

She would _especially_ not be wearing that stupid fucking outfit he'd been pestering her with for months. 

It must have shown on her face, because he immediately laughed, rushing to re-assure.

"Not the nurse thing, stop with the look."

"I have work to be doing, Adam, speed this up." she was beyond fighting; whatever he wanted was fine-- so long as that stupid little strip of rubber he called a dress stayed out of it. Adam lit up, nuzzling at her head. She hit him again. 

"Right, sorry-- I want to see you fuck yourself."

Lilith took a long moment, trying to process. 

"I don't like riding--"

"No, I know, not what I'm asking for here," he said, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "I love when you run off into your head, I do; you're easy and soft and--"

"Workplace, pervert."

"Right, I'm focused. You're just fucking quiet, think it'd be hot to hear you really enjoying yourself."

"You'd just be listening, then?" she asked, deadpan. Not too sure she was up for... Whatever the hell that was supposed to be. He laughed again, squeezing her.

"Well, no. No, I'd be there."

A large part of their 'relationship' involved Lilith getting him off as fast as possible. Translating that to-- well-- she was mostly just confused. He was kissing her, almost giddy. Usually, if she were to say no, she'd have done it already. 

"Um--"

"Come over at 8, alright? Bring whatever you--"

"What exactly am I supposed to be bringing? "

He looked at her like she was stupid. She contemplated the stairs and the role they played in this relationship. 

"Whatever you want, dunno what you have at home--"

"I don't _have_ anything at home," she said, honestly. Must be hard for him, assuming the rest of the world was just as depraved. "I don't get nasty little urges in the night."

She thought a moment as he pouted. 

"I guess indulging you could count."

"So it's a yes?"

She hadn't meant it like that.

"I'll buy you something to use, it's not a problem."

That was weird. She felt like what he was saying was a weird thing, even if pinpointing why was beyond her. 

Dr. Brown stepped into the breakroom. 

Both Lilith and Adams's heads snapped to the man, who didn't so much as flinch, back ruler-straight and a disinterested frown set firm. 

"Dr. White," he said, not sparing Adam a glance. The saint. "We need to get on with the renovations, Dr. Feilds is too nervous to go on without you present."

"Earnest?" she asked.

"Leona."

There was an odd one. If Leona was the one fussing, they must have already re-formatted the main system. That was awfully fast, though Brown had undoubtedly been watching over its set-up, she'd have him re-scan for any slips. Oliva was often reckless in the name of speed, but--

Adam was kissing her, _again._ Lilith bit, frustrated he'd distracted her, but he only hummed, seemingly appreciative. 

"I'll see you tomorrow, Comet," Adam said, grinning brightly at her. I love you."

Another peck and he was gone, leaving her and her subordinate alone. 

Lilith nodded to Brown as she slipped around him to exit, and he fell into step just behind her. As it should be.

"Dr. White?" he asked quietly, as they passed through the lab. She hummed in response, trying to stamp down nerves. "...Are you alright?"

She quit walking. 

He wasn't usually the type to ask such a personal question; it must have been _bad_ on her face. Shit. 

"Mind your place, Dr. I'll be just a moment."

He simply nodded, walking past her to the office. 

Lilith took a long breath, feeling... She was feeling frustrated. Frustrated with herself; hardly something to worry over-- she wasn't a shy person, no reason to start now. It couldn't possibly be that bad. 


	2. Growing In Just To Outgrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Independent little thing, isn't she?

"Francine? Can we talk?"

Francine glanced up to find her father in the front doorway, looking out at the sky. She shuffled over on the bench and picked up her journal, making room for him to sit with her. It took 13 years of begging for him to install a swinging bench on the front porch, might as well make use of it now that he had. He sat down slowly, jaw working. 

The tone he was using was scary-- _he_ was not. Francine shifted back to rest against him, sighing comfortably.

"Ran into your teacher today."

She immediately wished she wasn't sitting so close. Almost like he could sense it, he sighed, wrapping an arm around her and shutting down thoughts of escape. 

"Daddy--"

"I'm not _mad_ , Francine, I just--" he frowned, trying to find the words. Francine stared guiltily at the porch. "How long?"

She could never manage to lie to him.

"Since Christmas."

"Since _Christmas_?" he asked, turning to look incredulously down at her. Her eyes didn't leave the floor. "Christ Francine, this has been goin' on for _months?"_

She nodded, miserable. 

"Yes, sir."

"Well, that explains it; Mrs. Addams was damn worried about you girl, asked me if you'd caught your mothers sick-- scared the hell out of me."

"I'm sorry."

She hadn't thought Mrs. Addams would care, honestly. It certainly hadn't seemed like she was well-liked. 

"Francine, if someone was giving you trouble we can work it out, you can't just go stone cold on the school like this--"

"But I'm 15, I don't technically--"

" _Francine."_

She shut up fast, worrying her lip. 

"I thought you got on with everyone there, what happened?"

"Nothing _happened_ ," she said carefully, still avoiding his gaze. This would be easier if he were angry. "I just don't think I need to anymore is all, that's it."

"Francine it's a miracle this town has grades all the way through, even if you don't 'have to' it's stupid not too-- and you're _not_ stupid," he said, and she nodded with watery eyes. She wasn't stupid, and she wasn't _being_ stupid either. "What are you even doing? If nothing happened, your friends are still there, aren't they?"

"Yes, sir."

"Francine, can't work this out if you don't talk to me, c'mon now."

She swiped at her eyes, nodding again. He was right after all. 

"I'm at home," she said honestly. It seemed to surprise him. "I'm-- You said you were so worried about her home alone on the new medication and we weren't doing anything _hard_ that week so I just thought I'd-- y'know-- but then she had an episode so I stayed the next week too and--"

Francine hiccuped, awfully stressed, but found herself on a bit of a roll. 

"And you said how good she was doing, and I _know_ it's because I'm home helping her! I _know_ it is, and you said how nice it was that I was able to start helping with dinner and it _is_ nice; I like being here, helping! Honest!"

Stanford Page stares down his daughter for several long beats, and she graduates to full-on crying. She _hated_ keeping things from him. 

"Francine?" he asked quietly as he nudged at her. She made a negative noise in her throat, swiping at her eyes desperately, and he took a moment to help her. "Franny, shush honey, it's alright, you know I'm not mad."

Never was, really. 

"'M sorry, sir--"

"Said shush, didn't I?"

She could kick herself.

"I didn't mean to-- Francine, you know I didn't mean to just zag out of school."

"But--"

"I know what I said, honey, and-- And I did mean it. Didn't know it was because of you workin' your little tail off 'round the house, but it has been nice. But you don't _have_ to, baby."

"I like it, Daddy I swear--"

"Don't swear at me girl," he said, and it got her to laugh, even if she was still mopping up her face. He squeezed her gently. "You like it more than being with your friends?"

"It's not like I don't ever see them; it's a small town."

"Francine."

"I-- Well-- I know I can handle this. And I want to help and-- So it doesn't really matter if I'm seeing my friends a little less, they have lives too."

He nodded, solemn, and squeezed her again. 

"I love you."

"I love you too."

She meant it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Thinking about her.


	3. Wanting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So. How we feelin', gang?

You're a creature of needs. 

You _need_ to eat, so you _need_ to be making money, so you _need_ to keep getting put on jobs, so you _need_ to keep the boss's interest on you, so you _need_ to keep your head in the game. 

There's a bit of a problem on that front.

You want her to kiss you. 

_ Bad.  _

It'd be a pleasantly new experience for you if it wasn't completely fucking your focus. You're not used to just wanting. 

' _Just_ ' makes it feel like something small, and it really, _really_ isn't. Almost losing sleep over your little songbird for god's sake. 

Hard to care when she's tucked under your arm, at least. Even if it had to be pouring rain to get her there. 

"Red?" you ask, and she peaks out from the collar of your coat, blinking away raindrops. Pretty girl. "Can I ask you something?"

She grins up at you, playful and sly, and you almost steer both of you into a streetlamp. _Focus._

"Askin' me to ask me seems silly," she says, squeaking softly as you steer her out of the way of a puddle. "I'll humor you, though. Since you're doin' me this favor and all."

Never really saw the point in pussyfooting, and you _need_ to figure your little bird out, fast. Won't survive being this distracted long. 

"Why haven't you kissed me?"

She balks, but the arm over her shoulders prevents her from running off.

"I-- W-well," she stammers, and you find it helplessly cute despite yourself. "You're not my boyfriend, Charlie."

"This again?"

Francine hits your chest, flustered, but doesn't try squirming off again. It's interesting, but fuck if you know what it's supposed to mean. 

"Yes; this _again,_ since you can't seem to keep it in your head."

"I remember it fine, Red--"

"Sure don't act like it."

"But," you say, just a little louder to push your point "I don't think it matters much. You're my girl."

She makes a quiet, angry little noise. Bad sign. But her fingers curl into the soaked fabric of your shirt, and you've never known a cross woman's eyes to sparkle like hers. You might be overthinking, but damn if her eyes aren't nice to overthink on. 

"You've got to stop sayin' that..." she says softly. 

"Why should I?"

She tucks back into the jacket, and your chest feels funny. 

"I'll tell you when we get home, alright?" she finally says, and it fucks you up even more. Never thought you'd be this hard a loverboy, but that 'we' does something to you. Francine notices, because she's not an idiot, and you must be blushing hard enough to glow. "When-- When you get me home, Charlie. Easy boy."

She peeks her head out again to look around the grey streets, humming softly. 

"You sure you know the way, actually?"

"You're the one who said you needed help!"

"And you said you knew the way no problem; I don't recognize this area..."

You're confident it's the rain, but something in the back of your head reminds you that you _have_ been getting lost in your head a lot lately-- and wouldn't it just be perfect if you got your girl lost too? 

"Don't you trust me?" you ask, as opposed to letting out a nervous whine. You can get her home fine. 

Francine doesn't respond, opting to snuggle back up on your chest. There really is no better word for it. She's snuggling on you, but you have to keep your head clear. 

You _do_ manage to get her home (you're no idiot either), but you almost take a wrong street intentionally near the final stretch. She's warm on you, and in the last few minutes, she started humming softly. You can feel it vibrating into your bones, easily sidestepping the chill. 

"Which house is yours, Babydoll?" you ask quietly, regretfully. She motions to an itsy little thing on the corner, and you nod, steering her up to the porch. Maybe it's hope, but she seems reluctant to pull away too. 

"Thank you, Charlie," she says, slipping out of your jacket to hand it back to you. You don't want to take it, dress she's in isn't enough for the night, even if she'll be safe in just a couple more feet. You're already soaked through, anyway. "I really do appreciate it."

"Of course, Red. Couldn't let you just wander on a shit night like this." You say, and you can't help yourself. You take a step closer, and she doesn't stop you. "You're my girl."

You think you're going crazy. 

You've seen pretty girls before, done a lot more than see a few of 'em, but you _want_ this one, bad. Real bad. Her lashes flutter up at you, and there's a smile on her lips but it's apologetic and you're gonna get killed tomorrow thinkin' about how fucking close you got. You want to kiss her, but you _need_ her to kiss you, and you know she won't and--

"Told you to stop callin' me that, Charlie."

And it itches something awful. You're in a world of new, wanting and not getting and pretty hands pulling you closer still-- you _do_ whine when she reaches up to cup your jaw. 

"Know why?" she asks.

Cause she doesn't want to be yours. 

"It's 'cause you're handsome."

Your brain short-circuits. And that's before she plants a soft kiss on your cheek.

She has to know she's killing you.

(Figuratively speaking-- But that's close enough, isn't it? You've got a job tomorrow, and you're _positive_ you're gonna get shot; caught daydreaming about that dazzling, shy little smile she flashes you before slipping inside.)

It's 'cause you're handsome. 

You, creature of needs, think you _want_ her to call you that again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's an awfully long walk (in the rain) back to his car, but Charlie doesn't much mind. And don't worry about the upcoming job either, he doesn't get shot :) somehow he catches a wicked cold and has to call in.


	4. Lavender Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the things you need to say just aren't possible. Sometimes, when desperate to be understood, your brain might try translating in patches of what it knows. It might sound like gibberish, it might sound like a name.

Charlette Allegra-Ann McCain was the prettiest girl who'd ever dropped off the face of the Earth. 

She used to have other descriptors, but 'the girl who once punched Jason Delancy in the jaw for tugging her hair during communion' didn't compare. Even if _was_ still pretty neat, and Jason Delancy still gave every pretty blonde a wide berth. 

Francine had dropped off the face of the Earth a year ago though, so when the news hit, it was hard to be concerned. Small towns were just like that. Still wanted to swing by the farm and check-in, though. 

"Momma, I'm goin' out for a little while."

She didn't get a response from the bedroom. Already asleep then, poor thing, she'd have to leave a note instead. 

Francine stalled at the door. They used to go to school together. Charlette Allegra-Ann McCain would seek her out in the courtyard, sit her down on a bench, and braid her hair. She was less than gentle, with rough hands and a sharp bark whenever Francine would squirm, but she was also a year older, with the kind of face that belonged on a storybook princess and a laugh to match. Not-quite friends, but something close. 

Since dropping off the face of the Earth, Francine had only seen Charlette in passing, and both of them could never stay long.

Now that Charlette had disappeared too, it felt right to visit properly. 

Francine continued to stare at the door. 

Hm. 

"Momma, you're asleep?" she called, daring to be hopeful.

Nothing.

No tired, slurred words of encouragement for her then-- but she could be a big girl for Charlotte's sake. Not-quite friends have to stick together, after all. She didn't hesitate another second. 

Except, of course, when it was time to knock on the little farm door. 

Charlette Allegra-Ann McCain might not want to see her. Francine didn't know _why_ she dropped off the face of the Earth after all. A little girl she hadn't seen in almost a year, showing up dusty and unannounced, might be more annoying than pleasant. Francine should leave, and she turned to, but--

"Francine _Margriet_ Page, on my very own porch."

Charlette decided to materialize behind her, covered in dirt and sweat, grinning at her like Christmas came early. Francine considered running home anyway. 

"Charlette, I heard you dropped off the face of the Earth," she said instead. Wasn't really built for speed anyway, wouldn't get far. Charlette Allegra-Ann McCain was faster than David Brownly, and David Brownly was the self-proclaimed fastest in the town. He was full of shit, but it was still impressive. "Just-- Um, wanted to check in on you, 's all."

Charlette Allegra-Ann McCain quirked a smile her way, then reached over her to unlock the door, pushing it open. Just a year older, the pretty thing was almost a full foot taller. Jesus.

"Come on in then, checkin' me over proper shouldn't be done out in the open," Charlette said, gently nudging Francine in as she sputtered, red in the face. Forgotten her humor was so-- "Think I wanna check you over too, you're so--Ah, Francine Margriet Page, you went and turned into a lady on me, lady curves and all."

 _Funny._ Charlette was the funniest person in the whole world, even if Francine was never quick enough to laugh before her embarrassment got to her. 

She was sat down on a well-loved couch, Charlette saying she'd be back after getting a new shirt and Francine something to drink. Francine made her token protest and was sat back down immediately. 

"I _know_ how far your house is from the farm, don't even try it Francine Margriet Page." she has said, standing in the bedroom doorway as she shucked off her work shirt. Francine politely stared opposite wall, at the hearth. "You walked all the way down here, now I'll handle it, huh? Least I can do."

The soft sound of fabric hitting the hardwood rang in Francine's ears. She stared a little harder at the hearth. All the photo frames she could see were turned face down, and she wasn't sure what to make of that. 

Charlette sat down close a few minutes later in an old dress Francine remembered from school and handed her a mug of... Something. Hot something. Francine took a polite sip. Tea. 

"Francine Margriet Page?" Charlette asked. Having been in the middle of another polite sip, Francine hummed in response. Charlette fidgeted in her spot, unlike herself. She bit her lip softly, and Francine quickly looked back to the mug. "What-- What have you heard?"

"What have I heard?" Francine repeated slowly. 

"About me."

"Oh... Just that you'd quit going to school."

" _And_?" Charlette pressed, unidentifiable emotion hard in her big green eyes. 

"Well, you know how the town is," Francine said "People think you disappeared."

Charlette nodded, thoughtful. "I figured that much. Sort of happened when you quit coming to school, but everyone just assumed then that--"

"That I caught Mommas sick, I've heard." Francine cut in, less than fond of the rumor. Charlette threw her head back and laughed her fairytale laugh, but the look hadn't left her eye when she settled. 

"Yeah, worried me."

"You never came by."

"Never did, did I?" Charlette said, sighing. "Guess that makes you a better person than I am, Francine Margriet Page."

"Oh, don't put yourself down, Charlette; We weren't even friends, not really."

"You still came, didn't you?"

Francine had nothing to say to that. 

"Charlette?" she tried lightly. She got a low hum in response. "News sort of gets to me slow, stayin' at home like I do. Did I miss something? Are you alright?"

"Let me braid your hair?"

Charlette Allegra-Ann McCain had never asked her before, just grabbed her wrist and tugged to whenever she wanted Francine to settle down. Francine nodded weakly, sliding off the couch to sit on the floor. 

Charlette moved to sit just behind her, calloused hands gently carding through Francine's hair. 

"It's complicated," she said, after a long time of petting. Francine didn't mind. "It's just... It's really complicated, and I don't feel much like getting into it too deep. We're not friends, after all."

"I understand," Francine said quietly, trying not to feel hurt. Charlette was friends with a bunch of boys from her own grade. Francine had friends in a few of the less chatty girls in her grade. They'd never shared a class, they'd never sat next to one another in church, they'd never sought one another out in a crowd. But...

"But," Charlette said, thumb gently brushing the back of Francine's neck with her thumb. "But you did come all the way out here, didn't you? And you're Francine Margriet Page, the prettiest girl who ever dropped off the face of the Earth, and that means I can't just send you away with nothing, can I?"

"Why do you say my full name?" Francine asked.

"Because I like saying it." Charlette Allegra-Ann McCain answered. 

"Why'd you quit comin' to school?"

"I'm in charge of this piece of shit, infertile plot the bank calls a farm now. Couldn't keep it up 'n up if I was in town all day learning about nothing important. I know all I need."

Charlette Allegra-Ann McCain was excellent at braiding. She took her time, methodical and mindful of all the secret kinks and curls in Francine's hair, brushing it out completely and starting over whenever she felt she made a misstep. 

She helped Francine off the floor when done, and escorted her back to the front door. Really should be getting home, shouldn't she? Francine had quit school for a reason. 

Francine stalled, trying to think of something to say, some sympathy to offer. Charlette adjusted her bangs, tucking some behind an ear. She looked tired, now that Francine knew what was happening. Almost 50 acres, Francine would be tired too. _Beyond_ tired, she wouldn't be able to handle it. But Charlette was the toughest girl who'd ever dropped off the face of the Earth, and she _could_. 

"Charlette Allegra-Ann McCain?" Francine asked.

"Francine Margriet Page?" she responded, smiling at her. Francine loved the way Charlette said her name. 

"I-- You'd let me know if there was something I could do, right? Even if we're not friends, I-- You're _Charlette Allegra-Ann McCain_ , and that means I'd do just about anything for you." 

"Nothing you _can_ do, really. Delicate thing like yourself certainly wouldn't help me beat the bastard out of my dad, if he's stupid enough to show up here again."

True, in fairness. 

Charlette brushed her bangs back again, this time her hand lingering on Francine's cheek. She still looked unlike herself, perfectly gorgeous, but strangely timid as she spoke next. 

"You could kiss me though, for luck."

That Francine could. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowza. No idea what this style is, but it was fun while it lasted. Doubt I'll ever mention Charlette Allegra-Ann McCain again, though. These things are hard to talk about, and harder to explain the significance of.


	5. Spiral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much less polished than my last chapter, but important in its own right.

"--After extensive combing, I believe we can proceed as planned with the proposed plan so long as monthly dividends are sent to Miss Whites estate--"

" _Dr._ White, Mr. Straughts, please."

Spineless though he might be, the new defense was at least firm in correcting the meaningless. Lilith dully appreciated it, or at least how it made everyone at the gathered tables mouth twitch. Had this been a real trial, she'd have her doctorate stripped in a heartbeat. 

Why'd she ever bother getting it in the first; could have gotten the approval if she'd just caved and let Davis choke her. Wasted time, wasted money, wasted effort.

Useless. 

Straughts continued speaking, though he faded in and out like a broken radio. Not sure why she bothered tuning in at all, her line wasn't for another several hours, and her defense would nudge her when it was time. 

Why did she have a new defense?

Lilith turned to look at him, confused. He'd only been here a few days now-- but why had the old one been switched out again? They'd been with her for two weeks of this, and surely understood her contract better than this little--

Ah. 

Of course. 

She looked back to the wall. Why on Earth would they want her company-provided defense competent. 

Absolutely fucking useless. 

"--If you can provide a _valid_ capacity, I'd be delighted to re-work the offer _again--_ "

"A week ago 24B3 _was_ a valid capacity, Sir you can't retract eligibility because it's 'inconvenient' to you--"

"That section never had the legality to be signed in the first place--"

"But _seven_ executives _did_ sign--"

"Six."

"...Right. Six standing, but Edens signature is still in play as he was the forerunner for negotiations--"

"I would _appreciate it_ if you left the dead man out of this, considering the situation, consoler, it's inappropriate with her just--"

Lilith laughed, unable to help herself. 

All eyes turned to her, tense and uncomfortable, and she was quick to fade back out.

No one addressed her anyway. 

Mason kept his eyes on her though, and she stared back without much gusto. Apparently unnecessary to get him squirming in his chair. 

Lilith wondered, for the first time in the proceedings, how she looked. Her first defense had cared enough to bodily drag her into the shower whenever he'd pick her up from the apartment, however long ago that was. More than a few weeks. Maybe a month. 

Maybe longer?

She looked at the window, like that would tell her how long they'd been at this. 

Mason's eyes were still on her. 

Made sense, he'd always been fond of her at her worst. Usually, that just meant make-up fucked all over her face at the end of a long night, but it made sense it'd translate. He'd be easier than Eden. 

She snarled, licking a stripe over her teeth. Mason flinched, finally looking away. 

Much easier. 

"Lilith." her defense prompted gently. That time already. She hadn't even gone numb from the waist down. 

"I, Lilith White, of sound mind and body agree and consent to the ruling of the-- the--"

She tasted blood. 

Her defense blinked, unsure of what to do. She'd never gotten lost before. And she was, truly, lost, heart racing, eyes flicking all over the conference room. 

"The gathered..." her defense prompted gently, for all the good it did. Lilith didn't want to be here. She _shouldn't_ be here, bad things happened when all the snakes gathered in one den. 

She stood, stumbling back from the table a short few steps, screaming when her defense touched her arm. 

He cracked like porcelain when his head met the table, but she shouldn't have bothered. They'd wised up, and guards were on her in less than a moment, pinning her easily. She felt like she was melting; like the ground was dissolving under her. 

Fucking Thorazine. 

She'd be drowsy well into the next week now, with the frankly ridiculous dosage they had her on. 

Useless. 

Drug out, gurgling on spit and half-threats, Lilith White made her exit. 

The gathered executives stared after her, in a kind of shock. 

"We'll... We'll pick this up tomorrow."


	6. Knightly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright. A lot going on in this one. Am I being too heavy handed? Maybe. But it's written, isn't it, and that's all that matters.

"Charlie, Sweetheart, do you know where I left my applications folder?"

"Again, Red?"

Francine stalled her rummaging to frown at him, sitting languidly on the bed with a novel in hand. Getting awful cocky with that 'again' wasn't he. He had the good sense to keep on reading but apparently could help the small, crooked little smile. 

"I don't lose it _that_ often." She said, just a touch defensive.

"Mh. Have you checked my office?"

"I don't go into your office."

Smelled far too strongly of cigars for her taste, not that she could hold it against him. Only smoked in there and on the porch, as she'd asked. 

"Kitchen table, then?"

"If the folder was on the kitchen table, I would have seen it in an instant."

" _Y_ _ou're_ asking for _my_ help; mind yourself, girl." He said. Francine stuck her tongue out at him, and he grinned. "Oh, not the pout already, it's barely 8."

Francine sat heavily down on the bed next to him, arms crossed. Not a _pout,_ she was frustrated. Charlie finally closed his book, setting it down on the nightstand before crawling over and wrapping his arms around her from behind. She leaned into him because he was just _nice_ to lean into, even if he was acting as helpful as a deaf bat. 

"Can I have a kiss?" he asked into her neck. 

"I have better things to be doing than kissin' pretty boys," she said airily into the room, and he whined, playing pathetic into her hair. The poor, neglected thing. "What's that thing you always say?"

"My wife is the prettiest thing that ever--"

"No, the other thing." she interrupted, trying to keep the smile from her voice. "About professionalism when I try and get you to sleep in with me."

Charlie sighed again, running his hands over her sides mournfully. "Professionalism is 90% punctuality."

"Thank you. If I don't get the one from Mirror Mirror filled out tonight, I don't think I'll have time in the morning, so I can't drop it off when I'm out tomorrow."

"That where you met Mr. Pyanne?" he asked, and she nodded, "Then you don't have any reason to fuss; he'd let you sing there even if you spat in his face. Maybe _especially_ because you spat in his face, seems the type."

"Charlie!"

"Don't tell me you haven't noticed him staring--"

Snugly behind her, he was particularly difficult to swat at-- but Francine was well-practiced. 

"Not every man who's nice to me wants to pin me up somewhere dark--"

"I'm sure most of them wouldn't mind just bending you over their bars, just the right size in the heels you've been wearing lately--"

" _Charlie,_ stop it."

Francine felt gross. Mr. Pyanne was a very nice man, and-- well-- she wasn't _stupid,_ she'd seen his eyes linger once or twice but... 

Charlie squeezed her gently, pressing a slow kiss to her neck. 

"This is why I like going with you when you scout out new places, gives me an idea of who to keep an eye on."

"Not naive, Charlie."

"Never said you were, Red. But it's a big bad world out there, and you just... Just put an awful lot of faith in it." 

He shuffled behind her, adjusting his grip to pull her legs up onto the bed. 

Laid on her back, Charlie propped up on his hands above her, it was hard to hide the creeping stress on her face from him. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the anxious furrow of her brows. 

"You know that's one of my favorite thing about you, don't you?"

"Thought it stressed you."

"Tremendously." He said, over-serious, and she laughed softly despite herself. "But that's part of the deal, isn't it? I got the absolute sweetest thing in the word in my ring, now I gotta protect her from her too-big heart and all the-- er-- less pleasant folk that it attracts."

"That so?"

"Mhm."

"What's your next favorite?"

"Your _generous_ bust, next question, please," he answered immediately, and it finally got her laughing properly, embarrassed hand light over her mouth. What a knight. 

What a mouth on her knight, at that, currently working its way over her neck. She sighed pleasantly, softly, and was rewarded with a gentle scrape of teeth over her collar. 

"Red?"

"Charlie?" she responded, feeling warm and soft for his effort. 

"You know I love you, don't you, Babygirl?"

Of course she knew. Francine didn't dignify it with a response, leaning up to kiss him instead. He hummed against her mouth, almost a chuckle; but if he minded he certainly wasn't showing it, grinding his hips languidly on hers. 

They'd both been busy for... Almost a week now. Her poor, _actually_ neglected thing, where had the time gone. 

Barely 8 he'd said, that left her plenty of time to wear him out before he'd be grumpy in the morning for lack of sleep, and she'd been wanting to try something new with her mouth ever since--

Son of a bitch. 

Francine stopped Charlie's hand in its path to her zipper, pushing him back. He whined, kissing her palm, and she was sorely tempted. 

"Charlie?" she said sternly, more for herself than for him.

"Babygirl?" he replied, giving her eyes that'd put a puppy to shame. A whole week. This was almost painful.

"I still have to find that folder, 'n get the application filled out tonight."

"I could do it for you in the morning--"

Francine gave him a sharp look, and he had the decency to cough awkwardly. They'd had the conversation before. 

She rolled out from under him, shuddering softly at the cool air. Her boy was always remarkably warm... No matter. She wiped off the spit from her neck and resumed her search in earnest. 

"Mrs. Workman?" he called a few minutes later, still on the bed.

"Mr. Workman?" she responded, rustling through the stack of papers on one of the side tables in the lounge. Didn't know why it would be there, but if she didn't check then--

"My lovely little wife is prone to setting things on the runner table in the hallway when she hears the doorbell ring. Gets up too fast to catch the door, and when she realizes she can't with her hands full, dumps whatever it may be there."

She. 

She does do that, doesn't she?

And sure enough, there it is. 

She picks up the folder, uneasy for a reason she can't quite explain. Hm. 

Francine went back to the bedroom to fill out the rest of the papers, settling at the admiral's desk tucked into the corner. The applications were never hard, just tedious, and _just_ different enough to trip her up when switching from one to the other. Charlie had settled back into his book, half tucked in bed. 

Francine Margriet Workman, no stage name, 24, reference provided by--

"Let me look those over before you head out tomorrow, love."

"Of course, dear," she said without thinking, "Shouldn't be long, probably catch you before you turn in."

"Mh."

Reference provided by Mr. John Ellory-- no. Was it John? There was a John at the Moonrose, she was sure. Jonathan Ellory? That didn't sound right. Francine carefully crossed through Jonathan, rewriting John. Hm. John Ellory might've actually been for the brewhouse down on-- wait.

"Charlie?" she asked. He flicked a page, glancing at her. "Why do you need to check them?"

The fussy thing had a hard time taking no for an answer, she didn't _need_ help with these, really. 

"Oh, no reason, Red."

His eyes flickered, a small frown tugging at his mouth. Francine set down her pen, attention caught. He was miserable at keeping secrets.

"Charlie, really. You've never needed to before."

"I don't _need_ to now, just thought it might-- nothin'..."

" _Charlie_ ," she pressed, a little anxious now. "Why are you being so squirrelly with this?"

"Um..." he began, lightly closing the book again, eyes flicking to meet hers. "O'Donaven asked me to. At the Jade Inn?"

Francine blinked, taken slightly aback. She rarely sang at the Jade Inn, but the owner, Mr. O'Donaven, truly liked her. Well, she thought he did?

The confusion must have been clear on her face, as Charlie was quick to clarify. "Oh, baby, I'm sure it's nothing on you; you're his favorite gal, just-- Well, last time we were there, he mentioned that a lot of the paperwork you submit is-- uh-- not the easiest to follow."

Francine never submitted anything terribly complex, just applications for certain days and availability but-- if he mentioned it to Charlie, must be a problem. O'Donaven wasn't the type to complain for nothing. 

"I guess sometimes I could come off as unsure? And he could be getting confused, but I don't understand how it could possibly be so--"

"I dunno either, just what he said. Thought maybe I could clean up after you were done, save you a little embarrassment, 's all."

Just what he said. Francine fidgeted with the pen in her hands, unsure why she even used a pen for this. English was never her best course, and senior year it had been nightmarish-- must be awful trying to decypher. O'Donaven _liked_ her, even, the same couldn't be said for some of the men she worked with. 

"Franny, Baby, hey, get out of your head, it's not that big a deal--"

"Has anyone else mentioned something like that to you?" she asked. Charlie winced, looking away, and her mouth dropped. Unbelievable. 

"I shouldn't have said anything, I'm sorry, can tell you're upset."

"I'm not upset," she said thinly, trying to find the motivation to finish. It was _easy;_ these things took maybe ten minutes each for her to fill out or write. Maybe that was the problem? Did she go too fast?

Charlie looked on, sympathetic. 

"Charlie?" she asked quietly. He blinked, setting the book on his nightstand. "What time do you have to be gone tomorrow?"

"Songbird, I know you like doin' 'em, shouldn't stop just because--"

"No, I don't, not really," she said, letting the pen drop. "Just didn't want to put anything else on you, I just-- If it's bothering people..."

There was a long beat of silence. 

"You don't 'put anything on me' Red," Charlie said softly. 

"We had a talk maybe twenty minutes ago about why you felt the need to babysit me whenever I go out."

"I do it because I care about you, anything else you took away from that is on you. I want to take care of you, I-I _like_ takin' care of you, Francine. Can take care of the forms no problem."

Francine wasn't sure how she'd ever managed to ring someone like him. Without needing to ask, his arms opened for her as she crawled in with him, head laying on his chest as they settled in. 

"You're such a knight."

"You're my--"

"Better not use that damn nickname, Charles."

He laughed, kissing her through the threat like he _wasn't_ about to call her princess. 

"You're my songbird."

... He had a decent recovery, at least. Francine squeezed him, tucked safe under his chin, and tried not to think of the knot of anxiety still in her chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woof.


	7. Self-Harm Via Self-Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hm. dunno what there is to say on this one, actually.

"Lilith, please have a--"

"Lily."

"Beg your pardon?"

"Lily," she repeated slowly, already annoyed. "I asked you last time to call me Lily."

Dr. Musset blinked, then quickly made a note. Lily took a deep breath as she sat down, trying to settle. 

"Right, sorry about that. I'm glad you decided to come today, Lily. I understand you were a little less than happy last week during our introduction--"

"I'm not happy." she snapped, crossing a leg over the other. Ugly-ass yellow on the walls was giving her a headache. "I liked Dr. Cook."

Musset gave her a soft smile, and it was work to stay level. 

"I understand transitioning can be a little difficult, especially if you two had clicked, but certain factors..." He said, trailing off at the end, seemingly unsure. Lily cocked a brow. She'd _love_ to hear his attempt at explaining why the fuck she was here. "Well, can't be helped."

Of course, he didn't even try. 

"But, on the bright side; I've had some time to look over Dr. Cooks notes as well as what was provided--"

"My three-inch file big brother gave you?" she asked, and Musset closed his mouth. Thought so. "So we don't need to be doing this, do we? You know exactly what's wrong, we're done." 

"Why did you lie to Dr. Cook?" Musset asked gently, taking Lily aback. Fucking psychs. 

"I didn't lie to her, that'd be counter-productive," she said airily, "I don't make a habit of wasting my own time."

Dr. Musset made a face she wasn't sure what to make of, reaching to snag something from the small desk beside his chair. A moment later, a large manilla folder thudded on top. Three-inch was cutting it short, Jesus. Dr. Musset raised his eyebrows, and Lily huffed. 

"I didn't lie," she said again firmly.

"Alright, but there _are_ some inconsistencies between what Dr. Cook provided me and your actual file. Would you like me to provide a few examples, I've flagged a few."

"Please don't." Just having to be here was salt in an infected wound; she didn't _need_ another reminder of just how thoroughly her privacy had been invaded. To her relief, Musset didn't. "I was just... Warming up."

"You were with Dr. Cook for almost eight months., Lily."

"You've already proven you know how to read, you can stop."

Dr. Musset nodded, thankfully deciding to try and press on. All the luck to him. 

"Did you consider her a friend?"

"Excuse me?"

"Dr. Cook, I mean, apologies."

"That's pathetic."

"It's not, really. Though naturally it's discouraged in this field, clients getting attached is almost unavoidable. She spoke very fondly of you, and I can see endearments all over her reports. I can't say I know the woman, but just over the phone I could tell she'd love to have you as one, now that you're no longer--"

"Is there a point to this?" Lily asked tightly. She didn't want to think about Cook anymore. "If this is you trying to ease your way in, you're swinging wild, I don't keep friends, and I _don't_ have an abandonment issue."

"It'd be easy to feel betrayed, if--"

"If she had any semblance of control over this dumpster fire, yeah, it would. Except she _didn't,_ so I _don't._ Try again."

"You're agitated."

"You get paid for this?"

"It's normal, expected even, to switch therapists every so often."

"Nothing about this is normal! You get that, right? Just how many other fucking people are arm-twisted into this ugly-ass office a week because the government just can't _stand_ the idea of a leak, as if I was focused on what logo was where or who was sucking what officials dick--"

Lily paused, blinking. Slowly, she eased herself back onto the ugly wingback. Dr. Musset tilted his head. Bastard. 

"An issue of control, as opposed to abandonment, then?" he asked slowly. Oh, _bastard._ Lily shot him a look. "Lily? Can I ask you a question?"

"That's what you do, right?" She said, having to bite down on a 'whatever'. That was petulant teenage shit, and like it or not, she was an adult. 

"Why did you come here today?"

She wasn't sure what to say to that. He continued.

"Therapy isn't meant to be an _invasive_ process, if you're uncomfortable or unhappy, there are other things out there for you."

Still, nothing. She stared at the ground. 

"And it's not something I can just do unto you, I understand that I'm new to your case, and not all learning curves are subtle, but I have to have cooperation, Lily. You gave it to Dr. Cook--"

"I chose Dr. Cook."

"That you did. And in the eight months you were there, I was able to find maybe three truthful things you said to the woman."

Lily didn't want to be here. 

"You don't make a habit of wasting your own time, isn't that right?"

She really, _really_ didn't want to be here. 

"I didn't schedule this appointment. And it wasn't made for you. As far as I understand, you were informed that Dr. Cook was not qualified to handle the sensitive material in your case, you were provided a list of alternatives, of which I am one, and you set up the rest. Is that right?"

Her eyes flickered around the room, nerves tight. The door, the window, the far corner. Wretched, perceptive man he was, Dr. Musset seemed to catch the motion. 

"Lilith?" he said, softer now, and she could just fucking die. 

" _Lily,"_ she insisted quietly. She didn't like how her voice sounded. 

"Lily," he corrected. "Can you tell me what just happened there?"

She shook her head. 

"That's perfectly fine, Lily. Are you alright to continue?"

She shook her head again, harder this time.

"That's okay. I'm going to step out so you can take a few moments, you're free to leave if you'd like."

Lily watched him leave, shuddering a sigh when the door clicked behind him. She was feeling...

She closed her eyes, taking another breath. 

Embarrassed and upset, though she couldn't fathom why. He was hardly an intimidating man, a little light scolding was nothing. Her fingers paused on the box of cigarettes as she brought it out. No, no that wasn't right. 

He hadn't been _scolding_ , and that maneuver could hardly count as even cornering her. She knew why, but she hadn't said it. Hardly said anything, even. 

Embarrassed, upset, and a little frustrated now too. She lit up, hand coming up to rub at her temple. 

Less babying than Cook had been-- that was good-- but more abrasive. She didn't know what that would do to their relationship. Historically, Lily didn't work well with abrasion. 

Regardless, cigarette in mouth and gentle, anxious tremors still in her fingers, she pulled out her phone. Needed to schedule next weeks.

These things weren't meant to be easy. 


	8. Mommy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aahhh i wrote all of this on my phone don’t @ me

You would have been content never leaving the house again, after Peony. You have a  _baby_.  A real life, human baby. And it’s yours. And you have to take care of it, and it’s a full time job so when the invitation comes in the mail, it flummoxes you. Don’t they know you’re busy now?

(Busy with your baby. Busy taking care of your baby, which is a full time job and worrying about just how poorly you’re doing at your full time job, which is, in itself, also a full time job.) 

But Nero loves weddings. 

And even with your full time job in your arms, it isn’t much work to convince you. 

You hadn’t actually considered the ramifications of  going  until he suggested finding a babysitter a week or so before the event, and your chest closed in tight around your heart. A babysitter. For your baby. Your baby that you would be leaving— what? Why would you do that? With who, a stranger? Queensly had mentioned in passing he was attending as well, he wouldn’t be able to watch her. 

She stirs in your arm, anxious pressed to your racing heartbeat, and you quickly (and carefully, so carefully) pass her off to daddy so Lazarus can hop up in your lap. 

Nero side-eyes you, curious. 

“I’m sure they’d love to meet her, Mommy. She could come with us?”

Your fingers curl in Lazarus’ fluff. She could. It’s perfectly reasonable. She’s gone with Nero a few times to the store (when you’re pass-out exhausted) and when you’re feeling brave you’ll carry her with you to check the mail. 

But it’s not the store with Daddy and it’s not the mailbox with Mommy, it’s somewhere new and crowded with people and this is your  _ baby  _ and—

She coos, reaching out over Neros arm to grab for Lazarus. A tempting offer to any kitty, and yours knows just how gentle her pets are. Like the saint he is though, Lazarus is unpersuaded. 

“They can’t usually get together without something horrific happening.” you say slowly. Talking. Communication. 

“True.” Nero says. 

“That’s fine with you?” you ask sharply “You’re okay with letting her around so many people with— with just—“

You take a deep breath. Peony keeps making grabby hands at the cat in your lap. “It’s just a little scary, isn’t it? They don’t exactly have the best track record.”

“I’ll be there.”

True. 

“Queensly will be there.”

True. 

“And you’re not going to let go of her for a single second, are you?” You shake your head weakly. You don’t think you could manage, even if it was just with Nero. You would apologize for that if you had the words; he doesn’t seem to mind, continuing right on. “See? I don’t think anything bad could happen. Everything knows better than to mess with you, Mommy.” 

You’d sobbed when he first called you that in the hospital. It hadn’t been real, really real, even as you held her for the first time. He’d said that he loved you, Mommy, and that was it. You were mommy because the baby in your arms (the real, human baby) was  yours and it was absolutely terrifying— you’ve been terrified ever since. 

Being terrified is your third full time job. 

Why in gods name did you agree to RSVP. 

Peony kicks, still trying to reach out, and you’re the one that concedes. You pick up Lazarus and move him closer for her to pet, and she squeals delightedly, babbling out her joy. Little ray of love she is, she never bothered being scared of big bad Lazarus, even if he took some warming up to her. You sigh. 

“She’d love it, wouldn’t she?”

Nero has the gall to grin at you. 

** ************ **

And she does. 

It’s a sweet little affair, soft colors and romantic lighting and not too many people, actually, and her little head doesn’t stop swiveling, wide-eyed and amazed. It’s very different than the grocery store and the mailbox, surely. She doesn’t babble, but you suspect she’s too focused on taking it all in. You might be giving too much credit to an infant. 

Her little eyes (blue, like Daddy’s) carefully track Arrow as he quickly moves across the reception area, far too many plates stacked carefully in his hands. Someone had tied one of the decor balloons to his wrist, giving him a decent sized bobber trailing after him. 

You’re giving her just the right amount of credit, actually. 

No ones tried approaching, save passing greetings and Queensly. He said you somehow managed to look like a scared, trapped animal even all dolled up at a party. You told him you _were_ scared, actually, and he didn’t wander off for a long time after that. As awkward as his protective was at times, you’d appreciated it this round. 

The man of the hour himself never lets you stay a wallflower for long. 

“Lily?” Asks the crowd, because you were focused on scooting the silverware away from her curious hands. You blink. Johnny emerges from the muddled reception, looking as gorgeous and non-threatening as he ever has. You tense despite yourself, arm curling around your girl. “You came!”

“You didn’t receive the RSVP?” you ask. He laughs like you’re more charming than you are, and like that was supposed to be a joke. 

“No, sorry we did, Lilith said it was still probably going to be a 50/50 chance though.” he says. Fair. “I’m glad you’re here though, really.”

“Congratulations,” you say, because that’s what you’re pretty sure you’re supposed to say. He smiles like it was, anyway, warm like the sun. Were you this soft on your day? God. 

“Thank you. Is this...?” he asks, and you tense further. He’s standing a respectful distance back, and you knew this was going to happen, but the weight of all your full time jobs decides to make itself known at once. 

“I—“ 

He’s your favorite of the bunch, even. Peony isn’t scared, she seems more interested in the rose pinned to his lapel. 

You nod your head. 

It’s something close to wonder on his face, and that almost makes this easier. 

“She’s beautiful, Lily.” 

You nod again, throat tight, and he gives you a smile you wish helped before wandering off again. 

It’s another long stretch of time before you feel eyes linger on you (on her) again, and by that time you’re almost settled again. 

Of course it’s her. It just had to be her. 

Nero comes back to you, attempting to be casual, as if you didn’t just make a strangled, scared noise in your throat. He offers a finger to Peony as he kisses your cheek, and your baby laughs as she shakes daddy’s hand. You can’t look away from her though. 

You’re not scared. 

There’s only open, honest curiosity in her gaze as she wanders closer. 

She wouldn’t do anything, you know that. 

You still get the urge to leap on her, put her head through a wall bite kick scream  _ something _ . You deal with this urge often and know how to handle it, but Nero puts a hand on your shoulder, no longer playing it casual. Must be showing on your face. The crazy bitch wanders closer anyway. 

Peony finally notices when she scoots out a chair on the opposite side of the table, and seems confused, head swiveling between Mommy and something very, very close. 

(You can hurt her you can fight you can run you can rip the ugly ass white hair out of—) 

You take a deep breath. 

Peony babbles, playing with Daddy’s hand again. 

“Is that white, or is it blonde?” she asks, and the snap of annoyance that hits you almost makes you forget about everything else. 

“It’s—“

“It’s blonde.” Nero says, cutting you off. “Blondes are always pale like this when they’re little. You two were like this, right?”

Lilith nods like that’s a perfectly acceptable answer. 

“It’s not,” you snap, because it  _ isn’t _ “It’s white, he’s just in denial. Devil doesn’t dilute.”

Lilith nods, like thats just as acceptable. Nero puffs his cheeks, indignant. 

“Mommy, who’s been at this longer?”

“Daddy, who did we figure out was recently colorblind anyway?” 

“Blues and purples, that’s not fair—“

“It’s white, hush.” 

Queensly wanders over to sit on your other side, perfectly casual as he offers a lame wave her way. She doesn’t wave back. 

“Kink squad.”

Any appreciation you had for him immediately disappears, adding more annoyance to the pile. “I’ve asked how many times for you not to call us that—“

“The pet names—“

“They’re not pet names!” 

A while passes like that, and while you’re horribly flustered, you’re not scared. Even with  her across the table, watchful. That’s all she seems interested in, honestly, just watching. You don’t like it, but it’s not hard to live with, distracted by the two biggest morons in the reception (Arrow excluded, though with mommy-dearest here he might show up soon) 

Peony reaches for Queensly, and, forgetting yourself for a moment, you mindlessly (carefully, so carefully) hand her to him. 

“Nero if you bring up the popcorn thing one more time in public I’m forced to have to reconsider our—“

You freeze. 

You don’t have your baby. 

You don’t have your baby, center of your world and all of your countless full time jobs and you’re so scared you could die—

And Queensly hands her back over, even as she protests the travel, and she’s safe in your arms again, and you can breathe. Nero continues speaking as though you didn’t just tear up a little. 

They’ve teamed up on you, you realize. 

God knows what Lilith is hear for— you don’t care so long as she stays far enough away— but you’re outnumbered. 

It’s been months since you left the house of your own violation, and maybe, just maybe, you were going a little insane. It’s hard to pinpoint what is your normal neuroticism and what is panic-induced parental survival, but trembling at the thought of going to the mailbox is most certainly not something you had before you had a baby. 

Whom you love. 

Who you’d do absolutely anything for. 

Who looks up at you with pretty blue eyes (like daddy’s) full of innocent, honest love, because she didn’t mean to enable your paranoia, she’s an infant. No disrespect to your or Neros respective genes, but you don’t think she intends to do anything yet. 

You sigh. Lilith tilts her head. 

“Go fuck yourself.” you tell her, because you deserve it. Queensly barks out a surprised laugh, and it makes Peony giggle too. 

You needed this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i genuinely don’t know how comprehensive this is. let’s see.


	9. Fools Errand

_A shaky video recording clicks on of a young man's face, with wild blonde hair and freckles. He smiles at the camera before flipping the camera to an older man sitting at a desk, typing on an older computer. He wears a green polka-dot bowtie and a scowl._

**TRISTAN:** Mr. Gibbly!

_The older man, MR. GIBBLY glances at the camera, giving it a withering look. He stops typing. The camera can see a few rows of desks behind him, and the students in them. A few of them look up, mildly interested._

**MR. GIBBLY:** Tristan-- phone, please and thank you, sir.

 **TRISTAN:** Knock knock!

_MR. GIBBLY takes a moment, glancing between the young man, TRISTAN, and his computer screen. After a few long beats, he sighs, quirking a small smile._

**MR. GIBBLY:** Who's there?

 **TRISTAN:** An extraterrestrial. 

**MR. GIBBLY:** An extraterrestrial, who?

_The camera sakes, presumably as TRISTAN bounces up, and a pointing finger comes into frame, directed at MR. GIBBLY_

**TRISTAN:** What do you _mean_ an extraterrestrial who? Just how many do you know!

_MR. GIBBLY throws his head back and bursts out laughing, an odd, wheezing sound, which causes several of the students behind him to start laughing along, delighted. TRISTAN behind the camera cheers and the video gets shakier through the excitement. Slowly, as though TRISTAN is having trouble keeping steady, the camera zooms in on MR. GIBBLY's bowtie. The polka dots, as they come into focus, are revealed to be small alien heads. The video cuts off when MR. GIBBLY takes a particularly hard gasp for breath._

***************

_The camera flicks on in the same position, though TRISTAN is set more center this time, grinning. The camera flips to find MR. GIBBLY again, though now he's speaking with a blonde young lady standing at his desk. His bowtie is purple today._

**TRISTAN:** Mr. Gibbly!

_MR. GIBBLY winces, glancing at the camera._

**MR. GIBBLY:** Tristan, phone. 

_MR. GIBBLY looks back to the young lady, who seems annoyed with the interruption. She is alone in her annoyance, as more of the students behind MR. GIBBLY have perked up, expectant and either looking at their teacher or TRISTAN._

**TRISTAN:** So Schrodinger's cat walks into a bar and doesn't. 

_MR. GIBBLY abruptly stops speaking, chest jumping. He's able to refrain from laughing for less than five seconds before beginning to wheeze, putting his head in his hands. The students behind him cheer, as does TRISTAN. The camera cuts off._

***************

_The camera opens directly on MR. GIBBLY in front of the class, gesturing to an illuminated smartboard. A few students notice the phone and perk accordingly._

**TRISTAN:** Mr. Gibbly!

_MR. GIBBLY turns to find the camera, already grinning. Though he's alone in the shot, a few of the students can be heard softly laughing already or questioning TRISTAN._

**TRISTAN:** Why is Pavlov's hair so soft?

 **MR. GIBBLY:** I thought Mrs. Devanny took up your phone?

 **TRISTAN:** Mr. Gibbly focus! Pavlov!

 **MR. GIBBLY:** The Pavlov you're supposed to be taking notes on?

 **TRISTAN:** Mr. Gibbly! 

**MR. GIBBLY:** Why is Pavlov's hair so soft, Tristan. Enlighten me. 

_From behind the camera, another young man pipes up._

**STUDENT:** Because of classic conditioning!

_The video shakes dramatically as TRISTAN yells in betrayal, laughing. The chaos riles up the rest of the class; MR. GIBBLY's distinct laugh can be heard over it all. The video doesn't cut immediately however, busy zooming in on a fellow classmate. The same blonde as last video quietly sits reading, oblivious to the noise. The camera flips back to TRISTAN's face, eyes narrowed. MR. GIBBLY's laugh rings out a particularly high bark, and TRISTAN snorts a little, struggling to remain serious. The video ends._

***************

_The video recording clicks on, TRISTAN's face front and center, eyes bright and grin set. He bounces his eyebrows once before the camera flips, finding the blonde sitting in her usual spot a few desks away from MR. GIBBLY. She sits reading a different book than last time, idly swinging one leg._

**TRISTAN:** Mr. Gibbly!

_Offscreen, MR. GIBBLY can be heard asking what. The camera doesn't move focus, though several students around her can be seen going still, now familiar with TRISTAN's signal._

**TRISTAN:** Why didn't Handel go shopping?

 **MR. GIBBLY:** You make the most obscure--

 **TRISTAN:** Because he was  Baroque !

_Again, MR. GIBBON's can't seem to help it, and the class around him is just as amused, more from their teacher's odd laugh than the classical composer pun, but the camera stays still on the blonde. She flicks a page. The video flips back to TRISTAN, overdone frown now on his face. The video cuts off with the class's laughter still ringing._

***************

**TRISTAN:** What do you call a toroidal renaissance artist?

_Half the class can be seen quickly getting on their phones, presumably to update their vocabulary in the name of his punchline. She's fiddling with her nails today, picking at chipping white polish._

**TRISTAN:** Dought-ello!

_She doesn't even blink. The video ends._

***************

**TRISTAN:** Why don't cannibals eat clowns?

_Half the class is already laughing by the time the camera flips to the blonde, writing something red pen. TRISTAN rushes the punchline, a little louder to be heard over the noise._

**TRISTAN:** They taste funny!

_Lowering his calibur doesn't seem to have the desired effect, and when the camera flicks back to his face, TRISTAN looks pained. He sighs heavily, and the video ends._

***************

**TRISTAN:** Which hand is best to light the menorah?

_She sits reading over a study guide, not showing any signs of having heard him. The camera angle is slightly different-- like TRISTAN moved a few desks closer._

**TRISTAN:** Neither ! Best to use a match.

_The camera shakes pathetically as it records her non-reaction. Behind her, another student shakes their head in sympathy. The camera flips back to TRISTAN, and the video ends when he lets out a long, frustrated groan._

***************

_The camera clicks on in a new location, seeming to be a school hallway. It sways for a few moments before blurring, TRISTAN leaping out in front of a passing girl. She screams and immediately begins slapping him._

**TRISTAN:** Just a few questions for the lovely--  Ow ! Paige cut it out, I'm sorry!

 **PAIGE:** Dickhead! I've asked you like a dozen times  not  to do that!

 **TRISTAN:** Care to answer a few questions for a humble reporter?

_PAIGE, a pretty brunette, has a truly impressive deadpan. She crosses her arms. The camera shakes as TRISTAN laughs._

**TRISTAN:** Oh, come on, what's that face for?"

 **PAIGE:** You have journalism second period.

 **TRISTAN:** And?

 **PAIGE:** It's after hours, bud! You're not doing shit, especially not on your  phone  camera. 

**TRISTAN:** Clearly, I am.

_PAIGE raises a hand to the camera, and TRISTAN is quick to backpedal, apologizing sheepishly._

**TRISTAN:** Sorry! Sorry, seriously, though, I have questions.

 **PAIGE:** Hit me and hit me fast, clown; I have to get to archery. 

**TRISTAN:** You have the kid who skipped a couple grades in Trig, right? Blonde chick?

 **PAIGE:** God fucking help me, yeah. It's Lilith, btw.

 **TRISTAN:** I love that you say that so weird.

 **PAIGE:** Watch it.

 **TRISTAN:** Right, sorry. You've talked with her?

 **PAIGE:** No. Not exactly a lot of group projects in that class, is there?

 **TRISTAN:** I wouldn't know-- But like you've seen her talk to other people right? 

**TRISTAN:** Like, does she have a friend in the class or something? Trying to get a beat on her humor.

_PAIGE frowns, eyes narrowing at the camera._

**PAIGE:** Is this about your stupid thing in Latin studies? 

**TRISTAN:** I wouldn't call it stupid--

 **PAIGE:** I would. Your jokes don't get funnier because you film them.

 **TRISTAN:** Incorrect.

 **PAIGE:** Ugh! Tristan, leave the girl alone. This girl too. The me girl. 

**TRISTAN:** What's so bad about wanting to make her laugh?

 **PAIGE:** You're an adult man, and she's fifteen.

 **TRISTAN:** We share like five classes!

 **PAIGE:** Does that make her less fifteen? 

**PAIGE:** Don't be creepy.

 **TRISTAN:** I am but a humble fool! Come on, have you ever seen this chick  smile  like--  once ? 

**TRISTAN:** I sure haven't, and I have her in Gibbly's class even; you know how fun he is. 

_PAIGE's frown deepens, and her eyes flicker around the hallway. The camera angle drops 180, now looking upside down at her off-center leg. The audio quality drops. PAIGE's next line is particularly garbled, as she's speaking lower._

**PAIGE:** No...

 **TRISTAN:** How am I supposed to sleep at night, Paige? Come on, you have to have something for me. 

**PAIGE:** Maybe you're just not that funny, Tristan! Like half your material is nerd shit anyway.

 **TRISTAN:** Is not--

 **PAIGE:** You're the king of the history dorks.

 **TRISTAN:** Give me some credit, I've tried other shit! Expanding my vernacular didn't do anything. Didn't even budge with seasonal material...

 **PAIGE:** Not my problem! 

**PAIGE:** Look, I've got to go-- No, I don't really see her talk to anyone; you're shit out of luck. 

**PAIGE:** Wait-- Wait, you said you have her in like five classes, why are you asking  me ? I only have her in Trig. 

**TRISTAN:** I. Um. I don't really see her talk to anyone in those either-- I thought maybe--

_PAIGE walks out of the frame, groaning. The camera rights itself then flips to TRISTAN's face, looking discouraged._

**TRISTAN:** I love you, Paige!

 **PAIGE(offscreen):** Bite my ass, sad clown. 

_TRISTAN's eyes flick down to the camera. He sighs. The video cuts off._

***************

**TRISTAN:** Did you hear about the jurisprudence fetishist?

_The blonde, LILITH, sits now only a few desks away, indicating TRISTAN has moved closer still. She chews gently on a pen, giving no indication she's heard him. The few classmates that are also in the frame are smiling, though a few of them curiously look to LILITH. TRISTAN, and by extension TRISTAN's attention, is easy to recognize. One of them gently prompts a "Hm?"_

**TRISTAN:** He got off on a technicality!

_The attentive classmates laugh, though LILITH still shows no signs of giving. A few of the ones that had been looking at her now glance to the camera, sympathetic. The video ends with a huff._

***************

_The camera clicks on to a young lady in a tall ponytail, staring back. She raises her eyebrows to it (and presumably, TRISTAN behind it), and the video bobs, and exaggerated nod. She nods back and reaches out to gently tap LILITH's shoulder. LILITH blinks, taking a moment to be pulled away from her book before turning to look. The camerawork is poorer, shaking a little in excitement. The running hypothesis is, apparently, she'd just been a little too focused on running tasks over listening._

**ASSISTANT 1:** Do you have a pen I could borrow? I think I might've left my pencil bag in--

 **LILITH:** No.

 **TRISTAN:** Mr. Gibbly! The bartender says, 'Sorry, we don't serve time travelers here.'! The time traveler walks into a bar!

_MR. GIBBLY barks out his iconic, wheezing laugh, and several other students join him. The majority, however, have switched focus. LILITH settles back into her desk and picks up her book, blank-faced. There is a collective sigh of disappointment as the video ends._

***************

_The video opens to the same classroom, though it's significantly emptier than usual. TRISTAN stands in full-frame, hunched over a desk and frantically scribbling something onto a scrap of paper. Students filter in behind him from the hallway, passing him curious glances. He finishes the note, and quickly places it on an empty desk, recognizable as LILITH's usual spot. He approaches, and the camera jostles as he takes his phone back from an assistant, flipping the view to be on his face._

**TRISTAN:** Could be my delivery. I'll own to that--

_He makes a startled noise and the camera shakily flips to catch LILITH's entrance, a touch wobbly under the weight of a stack of binders in her arms. She sets them down on top of the correct desk, going about organizing them until she spots the scrap of paper. She freezes. The camera is shaky again with excitement. LILITH looks at it for a moment, before delicately picking up the note with two fingers, walking over to the trash can, and throwing it away. The whole classroom is silent, mourning. The video ends._

***************

_The camera clicks on, and while it's much the same, MR. GIBBLY stands talking in front of the class, gesturing behind him to the illuminated smartboard. The visible students are taking notes, LILITH included._

**TRISTAN:** Mr. Gibbly!

_MR. GIBBLY pauses, face twisting slightly. Most students do not pause writing, glad to have an extra second on this particular slide._

**MR. GIBBLY:** Phone, Tristan. We're in the middle of--

 **TRISTAN:** Please!  It'll be fast I swear!

_MR. GIBBLY takes a long few moments before sighing and moving the smartboard to the left, revealing a chunk of whiteboard underneath. In Bright red expo is written the joke:_

"How do mathematicians scold their children?  If I've told you 'n' times, I've told you 'n+1' times! "

_MR. GIBBLY gently directs attention to the message, and the camera zooms in to its target audience. She reads it, frowns, then goes back to writing. MR. GIBBLY joins the mass giving the camera a sympathetic glance. Video ends._

***************

**ASSISTANT 2:** Mr. Gibbly?

_Mr. Gibbly makes a questioning sound as he looks up from his desk, shooting TRISTAN, who still holds the camera, a confused glance. Still trying out delivery methods, then._

**MR. GIBBLY:** Yes, Derekk?

 **ASSISTANT 2:** Did you hear about the suicidal homeopath?

 **MR. GIBBLY:** Tell me about it. 

**ASSISTANT 2:** He took 1/50th of the recommended dosage!

_The camera finds LILITH as it always does, deadpan. After a moment of drinking in her non-reaction, it flips to TRISTAN's face, strained and resigned._

***************

_The video starts up, a much clearer, steadier picture. TRISTAN's voice rings out behind it, running through tests._

**TRISTAN:** Alyx, can you hear me?

 **ALYX:** Good enough, Nick say something into the mic we were having problems last time with--

 **NICK(heavily distorted):** Hello, hello, this is Nick Boldrin with the--

 **ALYX:** Stop. 

**ALYX:** Looks like we'll be relying on the big rigs mic then-- shit.

 **TRISTAN:** It's not that bad.

 **ALYX:** Not great, either. 

**NICK:** What say you then, Boss? O'Sheni said we have to do at least one segment today. 

**TRISTAN:** And she used her Thou Shall Not Fail Me voice too, tricky tricky. 

**ALYX:** Shut up, Tristan-- We'll handle student beat today. If we can't hear them then so be it-- You remember the riddles for this week, Nick?

 **NICK:** 'Course! Move out team!

_The camera shakes for a while on their journey, moving around empty hallways. Occasionally ALYX will dip into the frame, though mainly the focus stays on NICK, the frontman. After doing a few laps of the halls and finding no prey, the small journalism pack makes their way to the library, willing in the big rig with effort. There is also a pathetic lack of students milling about._

_This crew had it particularly hard, having to work with second periods lack of student body._

**NICK:** Shit.

 **TRISTAN:** We could try the courtyard, you know people hang out there before class.

 **NICK:** You'd be doing the heavy lifting man, I don't think we can get the big rig out of the main entrance--

 **ALYX:** No need boys, we've got one. 

_The camera watches NICK quickly walk offscreen to their target, seemingly reluctant to follow. When it does focus and settle, well well. LILITH sits alone at one of the study tables-- books and binders dominating most of the space. She chews lightly on a pen._

**NICK:** Hey, do you want to be on the Leguetown student beat? We'll ask a few questions or puzzles, and if--

_She doesn't look up as she cuts NICK off. TRISTAN winces, a motion visible in the camerawork._

**LILITH:** No.

 **TRISTAN:** If you answer two of the riddles correctly, you get an extra credit ticket.

 **TRISTAN:** Every teacher validates them. 

_Both ALYX and NICK shoot him a questioning look, and to his great surprise, so does LILITH. She takes a long few moments in silence before nodding. Thought so._

**NICK:** Great! 

_NICK pulls out a chair next to her, scooting in close. LILITH snaps a few of her binders shut, looking at him, then the camera warily. TRISTAN wasn't sure how to feel about the interaction. ALYX counts them off, and NICK happily runs through his intro._

**NICK:** Hello there, Leaguetown! Welcome back to the student beat, where we see just what our student body is made of! 

**NICK:** I'm Nick Boldrin, here with one of our quickest little academics--

NICK glances at LILITH.

 **LILITH:** Lilith Gould. 

**NICK:** \--Rearing to prove just what she's made of! Ready for your riddles?

_LILITH doesn't say anything, frown inching lower the longer the young man spoke._

**NICK:** Alright! Number one-- A girl has as many brothers as sisters, but each brother has only half as many brothers as sisters. How many brothers and sisters are there in the family?

 **LILITH:** Four sisters, three brothers. 

_NICK blinks, just shy of surprised. ALYX, off-camera, is not shy of anything and cocks her head to the side, confused._

**NICK:** Not bad at all!

 **NICK:** Number twos tricky, be careful! How can you add eight 8's to get 1000?

LILITH smiles. 

**LILITH:** 888 + 88 + 8 + 8 + 8

_NICK laughs, beyond delighted, and happily hands over a small ticket from his jacket. TRISTAN shares the sentiment, ecstatic to now have video evidence  that LILITH can, in fact, smile. It's small, it's smug, it's  something.  _

***************

Tristan hurries along the hallway, trying to slide into Economics before Leburns counted him absent for the day. He had a note from the office, of course, but there was still a great danger to his perfect attendance record. Rather not risk it. 

302, 304, 306. Tristan checked his watch. 2:15. Bad sign, he needed to be going faster. 

He quickly rounded a corner, almost in an anxious jog, and slammed into someone, knocking them back. To his great horror and luck, there she was.

"Shit! Sorry, Lilith!"

She seemed stunned, looking up at him with wide eyes behind her glasses. Ow. _Ow_. Running into those binders hadn't been pleasant, and he winced as he swept low to help collect them off the ground. That seemed to snap her back to reality, and she quickly began snatching them up.

"Are you oka--"

The few binders Tristan had managed to collect were quickly taken from him before he could finish."

"I'm fine, don't touch these!" she snapped, stacking them back up in her arms. He backed off, hot in the face and guilty. Right. Shit. Instead, when she was done, he lamely offered out a hand. She was wobbly enough carrying those things around, getting up wouldn't be easy.

Lilith stared at him for a moment, hard. 

She accepted the hand.

"Thank you--" she mumbled

"Sorry--" he tried at the same time. 

They both went silent. 

"Hey, you're graduating early, right?"

Even if it seemed to catch her off guard, she nodded once. "As soon as next month."

"Jesus, kid."

Saying congratulations felt wrong, somehow, so Tristan didn't. Instead, he stuck to what he knew.

"Do you want to hear a joke?" he asked.

"I have to go to the office, my dad's picking me up."

"It'll be quick."

She stood there for a moment, looking him over still. She nodded once.

"So, what did the programmer say when they discovered that their robot was missing?"

Lilith tilted her head, frowning. Here went nothing.

"Where the _fuck_ is my robot?"

And that was it. 

But Lilith Gould smiled. He could die on the spot, but chose not to-- he'd miss the laugh if he did. Her laugh. The surprised, chirping giggle that just _fell_ out of her; like he hadn't been working for months to get it. And she didn't stop. Lilith started walking away almost immediately, leaving Tristan astonished in her wake, softly laughing down the hallway, shoulders shaking in an effort to stop. Except she _didn't,_ still going as she rounded the opposite corner.

He'd done it. 

And not one single person in this school was going to believe him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you it was nothing! My hands just said GO and I went!!


	10. Fusion?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gay shit? gay shit?

"Don't you know those things will kill you?"

The creature lounging on one of the strykers in the garage huffed, irritably flicking ash towards him. 

"Piss off Spades."

Ace hadn't met this combo before. 

At the very least, he didn't recognize the thing or its components, shadows cutting off any observations at the waist. All he could really identify was of miles and miles of--

"Legs," he greeted, as casually as he could. Fusions itched his curiosity. "Don't think I've seen you around before, have I?"

"Gambit." they corrected, flicking the butt of their cigarette to the ground, grinding it under a heel. 

"Gambit," Ace amended. Gambit immediately lit up again, and he caught a twist of a scowl as the lighter flickered on. "Haven't seen you around before."

"Haven't exactly been looking, have you?" they asked slowly around an exhale of smoke, and Ace felt eyes on him. "You can guess."

"Excuse me?"

"It's what you're supposed to do, right? I'm a game of guess who, now guess who, Spades."

"You don't exactly sound thrilled by the idea."

"You don't come out to the garage."

"I do too, somet--"

"You do _not_."

He didn't, honestly. The way it rolled off their tongue though, that had something to it. Frustrated, defensive-- but with a lilt he almost recognized-- almost embarrassed. Ace leaned on a neighboring vehicle, looking to where he could only assume their face was. 

"...You were counting on some alone time."

"You've come this far, I can't say I'm too worried about their anonymity now. Might as well. Come on, Detective"

"Lilith puts out her smokes like that."

"Does she?" they asked, without asking. 

"Say my name?" he asked, grinning as he pulled out his own cigarettes. Gambit laughed, adding another notch to his theory. 

" _Spades_ ," they said, adding the cincher. 

"Gotta say, I'm a little surprised."

"Don't stall."

"King."

"...He wants to know just what the hell gave him away."

"He can keep wanting, light me up."

There was that laugh again, utterly unique, startlingly similar. Gambit stretches out a long leg, rising to sit up properly. In the light, even knowing just who he's looking at, Ace is surprised all over again. Far from perfect, they have a kind of balance to them he wasn't expecting. The cut of their jaw, the lashes, the lips, the dramatic cheekbones neither of their components had, what in God's name-- the grin. Gambit was grinning at him, wide and sharp, and Ace realizes their hand has been extended to him, offering out their lighter. He quickly leans in, lighting his smoke and looking away. 

"I think I get it." they say, laugh teasing through their words.

"Hm?" he asked, fighting down the red in his cheeks. 

"Mind your business, Spades."

"Don't talk out loud unless you want company."

"I had all the company I needed and didn't ask for more. You're third-wheeling," they said airily, chin propped in one hand (of four). Another long inhale, and they dusted off well over half their cigarette. "Uninvited third-wheeling, lower than low."

"You haven't told me to piss off yet," Ace says slowly, not daring to match pace with them. Jesus. "And I'm a curious man."

"There's nothing to know."

There went the rest of their cig. It was immediately replaced. 

"Remarkably clean-cut."

Lot of combos were a mish-mash their first time, their first _several_ times. Messy blends of ideas, styles-- limbs, occasionally.

"Been doing this a lot-- settled into myself."

"A lot?"

"Enough."

Another one gone, crushed under their heel.

"You've been forming just to smoke on the regular?"

"Yes. And? Smoking alone just isn't worth it, especially when there's nothing wrong."

He took a short hit off his, watching. They had Lilith's twitchy eye. Four pupils, neither of their original color, but her twitchy eye. Why it was making an appearance was the question. 

"Somethings wrong then?" he asked, as they lit another. Last of the box. 

"Something is." Another long drag. Twitch. "Don't be oblivious."

"It's me?" he asked. Ace then got to watch in amazement as the poor fucking Marlboro shriveled under one log drag. Flick. Grind. Exhale, head lolling back with a groan. Their lashes flutter close, and Ace looks away. "It's me."

"I don't want to be around you."

"Mean."

"I _don't_ want to be around you, Spades!"

Oh.

He shouldn't be surprised at their height, but he is. 

"I don't want to be having this conversation with you, I don't want to be around you, I don't want these stupid f--"

Twitch, but with _feeling._ An eye tried escaping, and they snarled, slapping a hand over it. 

"Ugh!"

Ace offered up what was left of his cig.

Gambit froze, looking down at him. 

They accepted. 

"You should try the patch," he said, still watching curiously. "Heard it does wonders."

And they were laughing again, shakily bringing the thing to their mouth. Their free arms crossed nervously over their chest.

"Formally, Ace Spades, this is your piss off. Please. I don't really want to know you." A hand untangled itself from the mass, swooping low to gently push back his hat. 

"Forgive me if I find that a little odd-- You've got two of my favorite people in there."

Something soft, something angry, something pained. Something so new it was hopeless. Ace didn't mind those odds.

"You love making it difficult, don't you?" they asked, just shy of fond. "I said piss off. I just-- I just can't take that kind of chance, Spades. You should know what that feels like."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> begging you ask me abt gambit


	11. Hysteria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> um?

'Distracted,' she'd said.

'Irritable,' she'd said.

' _ensitive,_ ' she'd said, horribly embarrassed on his gentle prompt. Sensitive indeed. 

Jackal couldn't say he had much of a preference on the rare occasions he picked up partners, but there was something to be said for little things that were just _easy._ Noir, be it a by-product of her hysteria or not, was _easy._

He gently nudged her legs farther apart, and she accepted with only a small whine. Most starpoints didn't carry past the knees, he was pleasantly surprised to find hers stretching to mid-thigh. Speckling, _speckling_ to mid-thigh. Truthfully, he hadn't been fond of the few professionals that decided to go off the rails and make another distinction-- even _less_ fond of those who used the term liberally to justify it. But Noir, as her medical file had promised, was truly speckled. 

Jackal squeezed.

Noir made a lilting, pained noise, somewhere between a groan and a whimper, but pressed further into his hand. Sweet thing. 

" _Please--_ "

He shushed her, invested in the curve of her waist. Dramatic, but pleasantly soft. 

"Jackal-- Please, I need--"

"I said shush, Noir."

The back of her head hit the desk with a muted _thunk_ , a defeated sound if he'd ever heard one. Most of what his fingers were mapping could follow those words. Dramatic, but oh-so-soft. The contrast of her plume on pale skin, the faux stockings, the irremovable gloves. The swell of her chest, the plush of her thighs. The lovely bell of her hips.

The god-damn stripe kept pulling him out of it. He ran a knuckle down it, bisecting her, and was rewarded a shiver. 

Extending from peak to plummet, clear nerve endings, but no real way to tell just how deep it ran. Why it hadn't feathered. What texture it was. Why it was mirrored along her spine. Jackal wasn't willing to remove anything from his person, or side-track this interaction for the sake of curiosity, but it itched. 

Noir made the same lilting noise, and he immediately loosened his grip on her. Right. He'd already become side-tracked. 

Gently, he refocused. 

"Raise your hips for me," he said and was obeyed almost immediately. Easy still, even after he'd be meandering. "Good girl."

She took the praise as he wanted her too, a note of relief audible in her next chirping moan. No more meandering; she was on the desk for a reason, after all. 

"Stay quiet, Noir. Can you do that for me?"

It's an unfair thing to ask as he finally begins to palm at her properly, but this wasn't meant to be fair from the start. To Noirs credit, she takes it like a desperate, sobbing champian, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes and nodding. Everything that slips out of her beak after is throaty, involuntary, and luxurious on the ear. 

Jackal doesn't like her hands so close to her mouth and corrects them to lie flat on the desk. Doing so forces him low, and he gets to hear her patience snap with a whine, and feel as she begins working herself down on him. Easy things can only be pushed so far, evidently. Fair. 

On the occasions he _has_ sought out a partner in this way, Jackal can't say he favors the most 'proactive' role-- watching the little creature fuck herself on his hand was dangerously close to something he'd seek out on his own. While he doesn't have it in him to stop her, necessarily, he's quick to recover control when her hips begin jerking. 

Noir makes an upset, betrayed noise when he forces her still, and looks like she might voice the displeasure, but instead, her beak clicks softly closed. She stares into his mask, thighs trembling, and brow furrowed for all of three seconds, before easing herself back down. Back arched, throat bared. He's besotted. 

"There's a good girl."

The delicate, involuntary flex of her thighs around him.

"Easy, easy now."

The tenor of her chirps, picking up in frequency. 

"I've got you."

This was proving to be a decently meditative experience. It'd been a while since he'd helped someone in this way. 

When Noir shakes apart, and she does, truly, shake apart around him, Jackal fucks her through it, steady and measured-- even as he drapes himself overtop. One wasn't enough, hardly ever was, and certainly not for her described symptoms, but a grounding element was often appreciated. Without thought, his free hand drifts to pet that wretched stripe. He thinks very little of the gesture-- until she laughs.

No, laughs isn't quite right-- Jackal knows Noirs laugh and all its variants. Pressed delicately into his chest as she is, her _giggles_ resonate, and the spike of pride that hits him is unavoidable. Airy and light; relived. Happy. Sounds like that were uncommon in his current work. 

Hadn't yet pulled out his tools, even, but that was no matter. She'd soon find him a _very_ thorough man. 

****************

Little creature she is, it's no problem when she proves boneless in the afterglow. Jackal keeps up a constant stream of gentle praises into her fluff, honestly proud of her manners through it all. He can forgive the mess because of it. 

Always dressed down on her visits, she's easy to re-assemble, even with one of her knees giving halfway through. Easy easy easy-- Jackal was relaxed. Remarkably so, even considering what the rest of the night promised. 

"You're more than welcome to stay until you're ready, Mrs. Noir."

She makes a drunk sound into his chest, eyes lidded. 

"Do you think you can answer some questions for me?" he asks gently, as he adjusts the woman in his lap. Noir nods. "Most of my assessment will need to wait a few days-- Please do come back down for your follow up, but the basics can be handled now, of course."

"Mh."

"Are you currently feeling aggressive, agitated, or restless?"

"No," she answers simply, running a hand over his shoulder.

"Any minor aches or pains caused by the treatment?"

"No," she says again, just as soft. "I'm much more flexible than _that."_

"Mh. Over the next few days, I'd like you to watch your moods and see if any of the undesirables make a reappearance."

"Of course..."

Jackal lets her be for a while, after that. As though aware of his discomfort at the thought of her falling asleep, Noir keeps a gentle hand running over his chest. He returns the favor, stroking over her back. Thinking of that damn stripe. He can probably coax her onto her stomach if she ever chose to come to him with this issue again. 

When Noir is rested enough to rise, she doesn't mention what's missing. Polite thing, he'd figured she'd let it be. He's surprised, however, when she nuzzles her beak into the crook of his mask. He's watched her enough to know what it means.

Miraculously though, it doesn't break the ease that's settled into his seams, pooling in the usually tense ridges of his back. She's dangerous like that.

Jackal finds himself looking forward to the follow-up anyway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not how i thought it would go but here we are!


	12. Soft Recognition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well well well. Fluff. My old enemy.

"Excuse me?"

Lilith didn't look up from her laptop, honed in on a particularly juicy and soon-to-be laughably incorrect dissertation on stem cell regeneration. 

"I haven't found one yet; it's not a big deal," she repeated slowly, grinning softly at the article. She wondered if they'd take away his doctorate when the poor bastard got blown out of the water. "Thought I might just order it online or something."

"Lilith White, I think I'm going to kill you."

 _That_ got her attention, and she blinked wide-eyed to Johnny sitting next to her. He looked worryingly serious. 

"Dead?" she asked.

"Dead!" he said, just shy of a yell. Lilith looked behind her, a little confused, and that only seemed to make it worse. "Yes, you! Are you _serious_?"

"About what?"

"About wha-- _Lilith!_ You don't have a dress?"

"Yes?"

"You understand your _wedding_ is in like, a month, don't you?"

"Yes."

"And that you'll need to be wearing your dress, right? The dress that you do not yet own?"

"Mhm."

Johnny slumped, somewhere beyond and between exasperated and exhausted. Lilith leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek, then went back to reading. He made a tittering, defeated sound.

"You're awful, Miss White," he said, and she didn't need to glance over to know he was smiling. Maybe not happily, but he'd be fine. 

"You're on record calling me incredibly charming, no going back now."

"You're only incredibly charming when you're being awful to Ace."

She winced, showing just how incredibly hurt she was by the comment, before gently closing her laptop. Finally at a comfortable stopping point. 

"Johnny?" she asked as she turned to him properly. He whined, slumping down further into the bed. "You know how much I appreciate you helping with everything, don't you?"

He whined again.

"My _deepest_ apologies, singlehandedly keeping this ship afloat, I mean."

"Better."

She hit him. 

"Shush. But this is one of those things that's..."

She frowned, not sure how to put her neuroticism to words. Words that wouldn't make her brain short circuit anyway, like the great, awful machine she was. 

"Hard?" he supplied gently, and she nodded. "Have you-- have you thought about it any?"

"A little," she said, "Probably not enough."

"A little _is_ enough," Johnny said, and she didn't pay it much mind, happily soothed by his wandering hand. "Movie day is canceled."

She halted his wandering hand, frowning. 

"But Battlefeild Earth--"

"Can wait," he insisted, wriggling his wrist away from her grip and going right back to petting. " _Because_ , beautiful, we're going to go dress shopping tomorrow!"

His eye was bright, his energy was palpable. 

"I don't think that's a good idea," Lilith said flatly, meaning it. 

"Too late, sorry. I'll be right there with you if things get hard, and we can knock it out fast together; because you _need_ a dress, Lilith," he said, and his wandering hand found her trembling one. She nodded, of course she nodded. He smiled at her, saying what she needed to hear. "I _do_ think it's a good idea."

That was enough for now. 

*****************

Johnny was having doubts. 

They'd prepped like champions, determined to make this short. What color was acceptable (anything but ivory), a vague shape, if they wanted to try and find a veil (she didn't), and she'd even been willing to take a simple style guide in the car (more for Johnny's sake than hers; just further trying to expedite the process).

They'd currently been in the store for upward of three hours, and things were looking grim. All that prep work...

Lilith almost flat refused to take anything off a rack, putting most of the weight on him to find suitable matches. He'd expected as much. 

She was mostly non-verbal when in a dress, which, while _not_ something he expected, could deal with easily. Lilith White was obvious when she didn't like something. She _hated_ being here, that much was clear from minute one, but for most of the dresses...

There really wasn't any hate, from what he'd seen. 

Well, with one exception, but he'd quickly corrected that train of thought. 

Mostly, there was just a soft disapproval. In something she _really_ didn't like, Lilith would dig in her heels and refuse to leave the changing room, but he got her up near the mirrors enough to see the problem. 

He thought she looked beautiful. 

Every single time, Johnny thought she looked beautiful. The unsure twist of her mouth, the anxious, twisting hand in the fabric of the skirt. The way she didn't meet her own eyes in the mirror. He sighed.

"Miss White? Another no?" he asked, offering a hand to help her down from the step. Lilith nodded, accepting the hand. Just not the one. "It's okay, next one will be it."

She shot him a look.

He'd been saying the exact phrase for well over an hour, and he refused to wilt under the glare. Eventually, he'd be right. 

"Promise," he added, just because he could. 

"Don't do that," she said, sounding tired.

"I mean it," he said, because he did. "Go on, shoo."

She shooed, looking less than hopeful for the encouragement. Didn't matter, he _was_ sure about the next up. 

A minute passed.

Two. 

Five, and Johnny was getting stressed. He'd checked for escape routes, and while there weren't any windows in the dressing rooms or the adjourning hallway, he couldn't be sure--

"Johnny?"

Thank fucking god.

"Lilith?" he asked, and she fidgeted beside him. 

She looked beautiful, but he thought that about every dress. About her. 

Ignoring her soft protest, he gently leads her up onto the step for the mirrors and got to see first-hand what had held her up. 

The nerves were still out in full force, but there was...

He was reminded of a kitten when first viewing their reflection. 

Cautious, curious, almost like she wasn't quite sure what she was looking at. Not exactly a big 'this-is-it' moment, but it was a marked improvement from all the others; and charming in its own right. 

Liliths eyes narrowed, and he was suddenly reminded just how many cats attacked their own reflection and felt the need to intervene.

"Mrs. Diamond?" he tried, and the effect was instant. He knew she and Jack were planning to hyphenate, but that didn't matter; the effect was _exactly_ what he wanted. 

Her eyes blew wide, and she glanced to him. He grinned, and her eyes flicked back, almost amazed. Fucking sold. 

"Excuse me?" she asked softly.

"Mrs. Diamond, you look beautiful."


	13. CAS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so without context this one's gonna be a doozy. Imagine this one to be maybe around ch 3 or four. Past setup and past the initial shock of the change, just feeling things out. It's not awful. This is also me trying to feel out the style and?? I'm not unhappy with this.

Daddy leaves at the same time in the morning. Ambrosia woke up when the door clicks open and shut, as she always did, and peeled out of bed just in time to see his big black car slowly pull out of the driveway. Like always.

If she didn't know better, she might believe this _was_ like always and crawl back into bed. Even looked back at the covers, thoughtful. 

Ambrosia sighed. Sadly, she _did_ know better, and that meant there was work to be done. 

With Daddy gone, there were still four not-quites in the house to be studied. Compared to Ambrosia's single self, that was plenty. 

Pulling on her sweater was harder than normal. The hole hadn't been kind to her, apparently, and that put a spike of worry in her still-sleepy mind. She was just her single self after all, and she wasn't moving very fast at all, sore and bruised up. Four of them. And she was a very small single self, even. 

_'They could have hurt me while I was asleep."_

It wasn't the most pleasant thought she'd ever had, before breakfast no less, but it did the trick. They'd had plenty of time to be scary and awful and mean, and they spent it sleeping. Well. She was pretty sure they spent it sleeping-- there wasn't else much they could do in this creaky house without waking her up. Ambrosia spent the rest of her brief time in her room dressing and thinking about tigers.

To her great surprise, the terrors were already in the bathroom, being less than terrors. 

Much less. 

So much less that it was easy to think that they were all half-asleep 12-year olds, fussing over who got to shower first. If it weren't for the miraculous lack of yelling, Ambrosia might have bought into it too. But she knew her big brothers, and when in a room together, there was no peace. Not that the scene in front of her was _peaceful_ by any means, Castor had his hand in Caleb's hair, Cooper was attempting to elbow Castor out of the way, and Caleb was tugging Cooper back by his PJ bottoms, but there was something...

She wasn't sure what to make of it. 

They were laughing. 

They didn't usually laugh when they horseplayed. 

Castor spotted her standing in the hallway, and he smiled. They didn't usually do that either. 

"Ambrosia, tell Cooper oldest gets the shower first, huh?" he called out, and she was beyond surprised, saying nothing. 

"Don't do it, Ambrosia!" Cooper whined around a headlock, "He's _such_ a hot water hog!"

"Um," she said, still in shock. She wasn't usually included in this part of... Whatever this was. The boys, though obnoxious, noisy, rude, spoilsports, demanding, invasive, and a million other things she couldn't think of so early in the morning, didn't usually pay her any mind. 

"I'm the oldest!" Caleb snipped, "You can't just say that because Mom got confused--"

"It was a moment of clarity--"

"It doesn't matter to begin with! Youngest rights!"

Cooper shot her a grin with that, and Ambrosia decided that was enough for now. The situation was disturbing enough without the glimpse of what she was sure was a fang. 

She went down the stairs slowly, considering. 

No, no she shouldn't try and puzzle anything out yet, there was still one not-quite to observe. 

She was found in the kitchen, wearing her mom's worn, too-big sleepshirt that had allegedly belonged to Daddy in years past. She was singing.

It was such a strange, obvious thing to get wrong. Ambrosia's mom didn't sing, and when she did, it never sounded like _that_. Hers was mournful, soft. Whenever she would notice Ambrosia listening, she'd stop, leaving her feeling guilty without knowing why. This one sang like a robin, yawning around notes here and there, but clear enough to be pretty as she moved around the kitchen. 

She wanted to ask what the song was. Or how she could sound like that, still using Mom's voice. 

She didn't, dedicated to simply watching. When filming nature documentaries, the camera people did all they could to go unnoticed by their chosen creature. 

Ambrosia wasn't a camera person though, and she didn't usually have to try to go unnoticed-- her sneak was unpracticed and sloppy. Mom noticed her almost right away. 

She was prepared to slink away in the ensuing silence, but Mom didn't stop. She did, for a short beat, but it was to smile at her. Then she kept on, sweet and unbothered, eyes shining like they were sharing a joke. Ambrosia's chest felt funny as she carefully came further into the kitchen. 

"Mom?" she asked the woman who wasn't quite her mother. Emelia Quite didn't smile at her daughter like that.

"Mhm?" she responded, carrying on her tune in a hum. There were a million things that needed to be asked, but as soon as she had Mom's attention on her, Ambrosia forgot them. Even humming, the melody was mesmerizing.

"Where'd you get that shirt?" she asked instead, feeling stupid as soon as it was out. That was a stupid question, and adults didn't like stupid questions in the morning. 

Her mother laughed, and she wasn't sure if it was a good impression or not, not having heard the original before. But it didn't really matter. It didn't matter how sweet it sounded, or how it rang out like a bell, because Ambrosia caught sight of her teeth, and she knew _her_ mothers just weren't sharp like that. 

"Oh, sweetheart," Mom said, eyes bright and excited. "I thought I told you the story behind this old thing?"

She shrugged, giggling to herself, pointedly ignoring how very pale her daughter had gone. 

"Oh well. It's pretty faded, but it used to be for a band your father introduced me to when we'd just started dating. They had a concert a few towns over, and your father was just so _ecstatic_ to take me, and I thought he was just so cute... Here, try this."

A strawberry was handed down to her. Ambrosia took a bite. 

"It's um... It's good?"

"It's ripe, then?"

"Oh, mhm."

"Good, good," she said, turning back to the counter. "Anyway, we went, we had a wonderful time, but, being dumb kids, we both somehow forgot it was December. And-- oh, maybe this isn't such a good story..."

"Mom!" Ambrosia said, and her mother laughed. Even if this woman with her mother's face (and _fangs_ ) was straight up lying to her, Ambrosia had never heard a story like this. It sounded romantic, and romance just wasn't had in this house. She could ignore the bits of wrong for now.

"Sorry, I don't mean to tease. Promise me that you won't get any mixed up morals from this?"

"Promise!"

She laughed again and handed Ambrosia a bowl. Cereal and fruit. Even if this was her usual breakfast, it was utterly strange to have it made for her. Ambrosia accepted the spoon anyway, focus caught by the story. 

"Okay, so it's maybe 3 degrees out, and we're waiting for the valet; I'm in a tank top shivering away, and usually this would mean the pretty boy I'm with would give me his jacket, right?"

"Mhm. Daddy didn't?"

"Daddy was in a t-shirt, shivering away with me. But then he says, wait here. And I see him walk back into the venue--"

"What's a venue?"

"The place the concert held was at, like a park or something, Baby."

"Oh, okay-- keep going. He just left you?"

"Not for long, don't worry. Maybe-- Um-- Maybe five minutes later he comes _running_ back to me, and before I can even say hello, he pulls me into a _giant_ sweatshirt."

"Oh," Ambrosia said, now settled at the table. Her mother settled across from her as she spoke, eyes fond and far away. "That shirt?"

"Mhm. The very one."

"Mom?" she asked, between a bite of cereal.

"Ambrosia?"

"What mixed up morals would I get from that?"

"Oh-- Well... You see how it's a little too big for me?"

It was _very_ big on her mother's thin frame, why Ambrosia had assumed it had been Daddy's. She nodded.

"Well, um, Daddy wasn't always so good with the numbers, and the numbers used to be a lot smaller back then. He spent everything he had just getting us tickets."

"Wait, wait, he _stole_ it?" Ambrosia asked, beyond shocked. Mom nodded, grinning sheepishly.

"Don't tell him I told you; he'll get all embarrassed."

Ambrosia laughed, because the notion of telling Daddy _anything_ was ridiculous, and then she laughed because the picture of him _stealing_ was even sillier. Mom laughed with her, hand covering her face like she was embarrassed.

The hole had been _especially_ unkind, the story wasn't that funny. But Ambrosia didn't stop laughing, and some rogue optimism she didn't know she had sincerely hoped that it was something they bothered getting correct. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you think this is a good length??


	14. Mob Shit? Of Them? Really?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They? this one's weird folks no questions at this time unless you have a pre-approved voucher.

Queensly isn't thrilled to see her back in the bar. 

"They're not here."

She slides into a seat at the bar anyway, chin daintily resting in one hand. "I don't remember asking."

He decides he's still mad.

"And?" he askes.

Her lips twist downward, and the bitch is pretty. Lipsticks perfect, hairs greased just right, crack on her temple angry and red. Nasty thing, but he's never been one to mind. He decides to be a little extra mad because of it, only mark she has from Friday added to the look. Cunt.

"I feel like we need to talk." she tries, and now it's his turn to frown.

"Do you."

"Queensly--"

" _Don't_ , Lilith, I--" He makes to gesture with his left, and immediately remembers why he's fucked up the ratio on every other drink he's served. Shit hurts. Shit hurts _bad._ Lilith tilts her head. Queensly sneers. "Don't on that either-- your fucking fault."

"What chop shop did you go to?"

"Antonia isn't a--"

"Antonia, the veterinarian that blew you few weeks ago?" she asked. He closed his mouth, stewing. Fucking harpy. "I bet I could fix it, if you'd let me."

"Don't think being seen with you is the best thing for either of us, doll."

"Then we won't be seen," she says simply, shrugging as she stands. "Be at your place when your shifts through."

"Don't think I _want_ you around my place, Lilith," he says, meaning it.

"Keep me out then."

Queensly's still mad as she slips out of the bar, entire body one big, aching bruise, but that doesn't mean he can't enjoy the view. Bitch. He sincerely hopes his security is tight enough to keep her out. 

***************

It isn't, of course it isn't.

She's in his chair waiting, medkit settled by her kicked up heels on the desk when he arrives, and to his great relief, doesn't say much. He scowls, she stands, and then his shirt's being delicately slipped off. 

Queensly doesn't break the silence, not in the fucking mood. She's gentle, going slow, and it still fucking _hurts._

"Can tell Antonia is sweet on you..." she says quietly, as she set in on a gash along his side. He grunts, wondering why exactly he was letting the woman handle him when he was like this. Certainly hadn't flashed him credentials, or indicated anything resembling medical know-how in the past. And. Y'know. Caused this shitstorm. "The stitches are about as sloppy as they come, can tell she was letting you squirm."

"Fuck off, Lilith."

"Shut the fuck up, Queensly, this is a favor." 

She sounds revolted, the farthest thing from sweet on him. Certainly isn't sweet with his side, though when done he can admit to the wound at least looking better-- if not feeling the same. 

"You didn't tell me you worked for--"

"Done." she interrupts, securing the last of the medical tape. "Everything else is passable, unless you rip it, of course. But then it's not my fault, is it?"

Queensly punches her, and pays dearly for it. A bolt of fire rips up his side (to her credit; the new stitches hold), and it puts her on the ground like when she got that ugly ass gash on her skull. He felt sick when she was laid out then, too. 

Doesn't stop him from kicking her in the stomach. 

"Cunt," she spits out lamely, and he gets another good hit in before his body catches up with him, aching and ripped to shreds. He slumps against the desk, checking to see if he popped anything as he speaks.

"You didn't fucking tell me."

"You didn't ask."

"Bull-fucking-shit I didn't! You said you were employed by another local group, not Viktor fucking Rosewater!"

"He's local." Lilith offers, and he dearly wishes he had another kick in him. He had to have rights to another kick. "It didn't matter, Queensly."

"Don't do that, bitch, you know exactly what the fuck the problem is." he bites. She does, she has to. It was a terrifying miracle the rival boss hadn't just wiped them off the map, and she has to know it. He's worked too fucking hard for that. They sit (Lilith is laying-- whatever) in silence for a while. "...Do you want a smoke?"

Silence.

"...Yeah."

He's not fucking giving her one of her own.

Queensly lights up, taking a long few drags off before moodily scooping closer to her on the ground. She doesn't look his way when she reaches for the cig, staring at the ceiling as she drags.

"You're okay?" she asks sullenly, like she has the right. 'Ought to hit her again.

"Mh. Good enough," he replies instead, accepting back the cigarette. "I can take a beating."

"So I saw."

"Watch it."

Silence.

"Lilith?" he asks. She hums. "You're okay?"

Her lips press thin, and the awful bitch is pretty. Sharp jaw, full lashes, bright eye-- the left. He's not used to seeing her left. Didn't notice it before, focused on the bash, but she's got her hair flipped opposite.

She sits up slowly after the last hit on the cig, sighing. 

"I'll keep away after this, Queensly."

"Don't have to." he offers, and it is an offer.

"Thought you didn't like me anymore."

"I've got my licks out, feelin' better. Hell of a loss, you fucking off into the sunset."

"Not exactly up to me, boss."

He loves that nickname. It isn't-- it _is_ a nickname, when Lilith says it like that. Queensly sits up with her. 

"Babydoll--"

"No."

He's standing now, trailing her like a puppy. Whatever; he was serious. She'd be a hell of a loss. He grabs a wrist, and knows she wants to stay just as much when she stops. You don't just _grab_ Lilith White and get away with it.

"Let's talk."

"Let's not."

"Lilith--"

"Clubs."

Not sure what makes him do it. Feels right in the moment, though, reaching up to cup her face. She lets him, even, even as he pushes the hair out of her face. Lilith freezes.

Queensly sees it. 

And she slaps him for all she's worth, and isn't in the fucking building anymore when he looks back.

_Bitch._


	15. Busy Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Busy busy little bird has a lot of stops on her to-do list.

"No, no they're stressed enough, shouldn't slip somewhere I'm not allowed."

**Only be a moment.**

Persuasive thing. Another check confirmed that yes, she had been well and truly forgotten in the small lobby. Not that Francine minded. 

**You could mind a little, darling.**

"No," she said airly, decidedly not minding. It was a police station, she knew better than to show up and expect full attention. But...

But she did have quite a few more stops on the list today. 

And she could see a clear shot to their office, even. Another check, then she quickly scooped up her basket (one of her favorite recent purchases) and slipped through the throng of desks. Pie placed, she was done and headed out. 

Francine turned on her heel, heading back in to scribble down a quick note. Mystery pies showing up in an officer's office, she knew better on that one too. Or, in hindsight, she did at least. 

_Hi Boys!_

_Cherry and rhubarb, like we spoke about? I was in the area, I hope you don't mind my dropping this off, I thought you could use something sweet to de-stress. Certainly seems busy here today..._

_\--Miss Noir_

_(P.S. It's Francine, by the by. I can't seem to remember who I've told my new name to and whom I haven't.)_

**You weren't in the area.**

"Well, they don't need to know that," she said, very pleased with herself as she began to leave.

Francine smiled at a too-tall man, paused to cock his head to her. She sped up her exit ever-so, a touch embarrassed. 

**Where to next?**

"Um..." Francine said, not sure herself for a moment. The officer's mildly confused face flashed briefly in her mind, and she was sure to _think_ her next response to avoid another stare.

_'The square next, then we can pop by the coliseum.'_

**Sweetheart--**

_'It's Sunday, my liege.'_

Francine didn't tack on the 'don't fuss', but it was heavily implied. Discontent settled in pins and needles around her wrist, but didn't spread any further. They didn't fuss, and she pushed her own mix of _content-loving-grateful_ on the cab ride over in thanks. 

Upon arrival at the square, she didn't immediately see her little lunch date (up to no good, surely), but that was more than fine. She was behind schedule, couldn't expect him to wait around forever. Instead of taking her place at the fountain, Francine wandered off down one of the vendor allies, eyeing over the various goods. The newsstand tended to wander, she hoped it hadn't already packed up and--

**On your left, love.**

"Oh! Thank you!"

Francine happily purchased the day's newspaper, exchanging pleasantries with the handsome young man who ran the cart. 

**Handsome?**

"Huh?"

**You think he's handsome?**

The young man said something, and Francine fumbled.

"Very handsome, you too but-- I-- wha--"

He laughed, good-natured (if a little confused) and she was quick to chirp a goodbye, newspaper tucked into her basket. 

_love-gentle humor-teasing_

Francine ruffled off the reassurances with a huff, continuing to weave through the stalls until she found what she was after.

"Good afternoon, Miss Noir."

"Good afternoon Oslo! I'm so sorry I'm running late, been a busy morning." She greeted, slipping into the bright tent. An eye split open from the shadows, and she dipped her head. No use doing anything more than that, she'd learned. 

"I can't say I mind-- been busy here, too," Oslo said, accepting the offered newspaper without a beat missed. Privately, Francine was a little proud of that. "And my lack of a watch, of course."

"Oh! I don't have to loiter if I'll be in the way...?"

Oslos head turned minutely.

The eye didn't waver.

Francine, for all she's worth, still isn't very good at understanding. It wasn't squinting? But if that was a good thing or not was beyond--

**Be thankful you don't understand this one, treasure.**

_'What a strange thing to say.'_

**Mh.**

"You're more than welcome to stay."

"What?" Francine asked, blinking. She now held Oslo's full attention, for all she could remember what for. 

"I like your being here. You're welcome to stay, Miss Noir," he said, kinder than she deserved. Such an airhead today; must be annoying.

"Not for too long, late after all-- but thank you. Think you're up for helping me with the crossword?"

"I've been thinking about it all week."

"All week! Goodness, this won't take but a minute then," she chirped, beyond delighted. Puzzles of the kind bored her to tears usually, but his excitement was infectious. "Alright, hand over the page then-- We'll blow through this!"

They did not, in fact, blow through it. They never did. 

But after thirty minutes they were decently sure half of them correct and had resolved to leave the rest with Oslo to ponder over the week. 

"You'll keep it safe for next Sunday?" she asked, rising to go.

"I keep all your gifts safe," he assured, leading her hand around the table. "You'll keep thinking on 13 down for me?"

"I might have a nightmare about 13 down, but so be it! Has to get solved somehow... Oh! That reminds me! I have a gift for you."

"Oh, Miss Noir--"

"Zip zip zip, didn't cost me a thing. Here!"

( ** ᶻᶦᵖ  ** ᶻᶦᵖ Zᵢₚ Zɪᴘ ᶻᶦᵖ **Zᵢₚ** )

After a brief pause to dip in her basket, she proudly presented him with a pack of playing cards. Honestly, she was amazed she hadn't thought of these first. Oslo paused for only a short beat before accepting, turning the pack over in his hands.

"You'll spoil me at this rate."

"So be it. We can find a game next Sunday if you'd like, and there's plenty of solo ones for you to try while you work. Won't be a distraction."

Without meaning to, Francine cut a look to the eye, still perfectly stagnant. Oslo tensed.

**Mind yourself.**

Francine smiled, adjusting the basket on her arm.

"I should be off! I hope you like them!"

"Goodbye, Miss Noir."

"I'll see you next Sunday," she said firmly, as she always did, then was off. 

If he was lingering near the fountain, this could be short, and she could keep right on her way. If not, she wasn't sure if she had the patience to try and--

Something tugged on her skirt, and she was quick to stop, least the delicate fabric rip. Learned that lesson the hard way, too many times now.

"Please let go," she asked calmly.

Muffled around her skirt, His response was only tinged with annoyance. "Late."

"Oh, I'm sorry if I kept you waiting Sir, but--"

" _Late._ "

"Oh... I did stop with Oslo even after I was already behind... But you weren't--"

_disgust-irritation-annoyance_

**Get it off you before you explain.**

"Please let go," she repeated, just as calm. Excitable thing, best to stay level and ignore Muse for the time being. "Couldn't be helped-- I'm here now."

He spat out her skirt, still huffy, but with His priorities back in order.

Francine gently pats the top of His hat, fond, and He tries nipping at her basket. 

"For me?" He asks, and she nods. 

"Only some of it, but I went to the bank yesterday."

He wiggles in a way that makes her hand draw away from His hat, but He presses back in just as fast as she draws back. The bank was cause for great excitement. She dug out two thick rolls from the basket, having to take a few short steps away to get the paper off.

"Hold on-- Hold on now-- There!"

He didn't hesitate a millisecond before licking up the coins in her offered hand, shuddering happily. Francine laughed softly, unfurling the other roll. Worth waiting for, apparently. 

He accepted the second just as quickly, wobbling a happy circle around her.

"I've got to go-- Late after all, but I'll see you on Tuesday!"

"Tuesday!"

( ᵀᵘᵉˢᵈᵃʸ  ₜᵤₑₛ𝒹ₐᵧ  Tᴜᴇsᴅᴀʏ **ᵀᵘᵉˢᵈᵃʸ** )

"And I won't be late, either."

He cackled, a mean, wonky sound that had started making her laugh in turn months ago as they went their separate ways.

**Lunch.**

"Lunch?" she asked, in the back of the cab instead of answering the driver's question. "What about lunch?"

**You didn't eat lunch, dearest.**

"Oh, well that isn't--"

The driver cleared her throat harshly, and Francine ruffled immediately. 

"I'm sorry?" she asked, embarrassed.

The driver sounded clipped as she responded, and even without eyes proper, Francine could feel her stare in the rear-view. "Where are you going?"

Francine meekly recited the address and winced when the separation glass was clicked closed.

_love-reassurance-comfort-ease-safe_

Francine quietly thought her thanks, but her feathers didn't settle fully for the duration of the ride. Have to get better at that, was making her terribly rude to strangers.

**You're not rude.**

Francine, quite rudely, did not respond. 

Two blocks away from her true destination, she paid her fare and crawled out of the cab. Even if they weren't _hidden-_ hidden, it felt rude to get dropped off directly in front of their hideout. That, and she didn't mind the walk. 

It was a bit of a fuss to find the earing, buried in a deeper pocket of her coat, but the posted guard knew her and was more than friendly as he waited. Formalities, she understood. He got a cookie from the basket when she finally found it and was let through. 

It wasn't somewhere she ever would have guessed would feel homey, but then, lots of things about her current life she wouldn't have been fathomable. She felt relaxed here.

A familiar path lead her through the tents. 

"Knock knock?"

Tents. Couldn't knock any other way.

**How polite.**

_'Hush.'_

"Huh? Oh! Hi Francine!"

Sludge wiggled out from beneath the massive truck, springing to her feet and bouncing over to Francine in a few easy motions. Both girls leaned in, Francine wincing back when she realized she was going in for a hug and Sludge following suit. Francine waved, awkward.

Sludge laughed, and hugged her. Thank god.

"You didn't tell me you were coming over today! I'm all-- Oh shit!" Sludge jerked away, wiping at her shirt "I'm all gross-- sorry!"

"What? Oh! Oh, it's okay, don't think anything got on me," Francine said, honestly not minding as she settled the basket on a free spot on the workbench. "Hello, Gaz!"

Gaz said his hellos as he worked his way out from the truck's underbelly as well. "Miss Francine."

He reached out and flicked his partner's ear, just shy of irritated. "You left the gas unclamped."

"Did you fix it?"

"'Course."

"Then don't flick me, it's fine."

"What are you two doing?" Francine asked, genuinely curious. Still couldn't tell you how many gears there were in an engine (not for Sludges lack of trying), but that didn't mean car-things weren't interesting. 

"She wants a nos bottle in."

"We _need_ a nos bottle in this thing."

( ₙₒₛ **_ⁿᵒˢ_ ** ⁿᵒˢ  ɴᴏs  ₕₑₗₗₒ ⁿᵒˢ )

Having spoken over one another, Francine only caught one word from the both of them. All of them?

"Nos?" she asked, and Sludge was quick to fill her in.

"Stacking a nitrous oxide canister in the combustion chamber, gonna give us a fuckton more ponies under the hood, probably increase towing too! It's such pain in the ass to install--"

"And care for..." Gaz added sullenly.

"And care for,' she agreed, still happily explaining, "'Cause it _loves_ to chew through nearby wires and components, but it's gonna be _so_ worth it."

"Already fucked up the Firewheel and drive-belt, 'n it's eating its way through one of the pistons now."

"That was before we upgraded the track, don't listen to him; our pistons are fine."

"Oh," Francine said, utterly lost. "I understand, how neat!"

Sludge positively glowed.

"Since you two are busy, I won't keep you long; just wanted to drop something off."

From the basket was produced a tupper, full of--

"Marshmallows! Holy fuck, they're pink?"

"Homemade!" Francine confirmed, delighted. "It's rose swirled-- I wasn't actually trying to-- Well-- Sort of? Meant to make marshmallow fluff for a bomb alaska, ended up too thick."

"Can I try one?"

"They're yours, of course."

"Nice!" Sludge popped the lid, and, after handing one to Gaz, tried one with gusto.

Francine fidgeted. 

"And..?"

"Francine?" Sludge asked, chewing thoughtfully.

"Mhm?"

"I think I'm in love with you, what the _fuck!_ I've eaten some nasty flowers in my day, and I was sorta prepared to lie to you but this is actually kind of great? You're insane this is insane--"

"Thank you." Gaz cut in, smiling. Francine could melt.

"You're welcome! I'm glad they turned out okay--"

"They turned out _great--_ "

"I was a little worried, touch and go when they were forming but--"

"Can we roast these?"

Francine blinked. "I think they should be able to hold up, yes."

Sludge looked ready to vibrate out of her own skin. 

"Nice! Gaz, fucking give me some juice!"

"It's not ready for that."

"It's not ready to be on the _road_ it can totally blare, c'mon revv it! Just for a sec--"

"No."

"One marshmallow! It's not gonna hurt anything; she's primed and desperate for _something_ Gaz--"

"No--"

"Oh! Goodness, I'm sorry you two but I need to be going--"

"Aw, Francine not you too! It'll be fine!"

She laughed, recollecting her basket. 

"It's not that, don't worry. Just behind schedule, skipped lunch even and I've still got more stops than a bus route-- Oh! Can I ask a favor?"

"'Course," Sludge said around a marshmallow, making Francine giggle. "What's up?"

"Give something to Skrill for me?"

"Just Skrill?"

"Er, well no, Greeze just doesn't have the same kind of sweet-tooth."

"Aw, and I thought we were special."

"Hush. Can you give these to them?" Sludge accepted the small tray of cookies with a nod, and Francine got a short beat of relief. One stop she didn't have to make, even if she was normally a little nervous to hand a gift off to someone else. "Thank you! I'll be off, you'll tell them I said hello?"

"Duh, bye Francine!"

"Goodbye, Miss Francine."

A final wave and she was on her way out and down the road. 

**Did you eat breakfast?**

"You aren't allowed to poke fun at how I eat granola, then pretend you don't remember the event altogether."

(  ₚₑ𝒸ₖ  _ₕₑₕₑ_ ᵖᵉᶜᵏ _ᵖᵉᶜᵏ_ ₘₕ **ᵧᵤₘ** ᴘᴇᴄᴋ ᵖᵉᶜᵏ **ₚₑ𝒸ₖ** )

**Artful little dodger.**

"Yes, I ate breakfast, my muse."

Fussy thing.

No use hailing another cab, not that she could see one anyway. She could use another short walk. 

Five blocks later, she was more than done with her short walk and flagged a passing taxi, careful to be attentive as her address was asked.

"Bone Daddy's on 5th and 23rd, please."

**Late lunch.**

"Stop that!"

The driver blinked at her, sheepishly apologizing for something Francine missed. She stared out the window for the duration of the ride, trying to be small.

"Your stop, ma'am."

She tipped generously, hurrying out the car.

Only to have to stop directly outside to take a call.

"Hello? Hello, um? This is Francine?"

The phone rang in her ear, making her yelp.

( ᵣᵢₙ𝓰 ᵍʳᵉᵉⁿ ʳᶦⁿᵍ ʀɪɴɢ **_ ʳᶦⁿᵍ  _ ** ɢʀᴇᴇɴ ʙᴜᴛᴛᴏɴ _ᵣᵢₙ𝓰_ ʳᶦⁿᵍ )

Green button, right. 

"Hello? This is--"

"Francine, tell me you're not busy tonight."

"Miss Egret? Ah, actually--"

"Need you to come down to the bar and talk scheduling with me, said you want a set, here's your chance. Mella canceled her acts on Thursdays, if you want they can be-- No, what am I doing, we can talk in person. I'll see you around 6, Sweetpea."

The receiver beeped, and Francine winced again. Right. Just another stop to add. 

"Yes ma'am." She said, to no one in particular.

_love-comfort-ease_

_A low, gentle croon in the crook of her neck._

However sweet, it was unnecessary. Bone Daddy's had that effect anyway. The man himself wasn't immediately visible when she stepped in, which was fine. Had other business to handle. 

"Excuse me?" she asked the bartender, an older gentleman she didn't recognize. "Do you think you could help me type a number in?"

"Let me see, darling," he said kindly, and Francine happily handed over the phone. 

( 𝒹ₐᵣₗᵢₙ𝓰 ˡᵒᵛᵉ _ ᵈᵃʳˡᶦⁿᵍ  _ ₚₑₜ ᴅᴇᴀʀᴇsᴛ **ᵈᵃʳˡᶦⁿᵍ** ₕₒₙₑᵧ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟʏ ᴅᴀʀʟɪɴɢ ˢʷᵉᵉᵗⁿᵉˢˢ )

She recited the number, and the man dutifully typed in the number for her, handing it to her when done. Francine thanked him, tucking it to an ear. It rang twice, and she hoped he wasn't busy...

She crawled into one of the larger booths, feeling only a little silly as she settled in, legs tucked underneath her. It rang a third time. Hm.

_ease-safe-comfort_

A fourth, then a fifth, and just as she was about to close the phone--

"Hello? Miss Noir?"

"Hello Sean!" she chirped, feeling even sillier for how excited she felt with his voice. "Are you busy?" 

"Not terribly, you'll have to excuse me, I always forget to carry this silly thing on me, had to find it when you phoned," he said, sounding just a touch winded, now that she was listening. Cute. "A friend set your ringtone for me, 's marvelous. Knew it was you trying to catch me."

"And what a catch," Francine said, forgetting herself. She was quickly reminded when he laughed, just the right mix of sheepish and delighted. "I-- Ah, I'm sorry! I wanted to know if we were still on tonight?"

"I certainly hope so."

"And," she said, now the one sounding sheepish, "And if we could push it back just a little. An hour? An hour at most, I mean."

"An hours nothing, of course. Is everything alright?"

"Everythings peaches, but I have to swing by the Silver Chik tonight and talk work."

"Mh, I see. I could pick you up from there, if you'd like?"

"I'd--" Francine spotted Bone Daddy, and happily waved him over "I'd love that! Seven then?"

"Seven. I'll see you then, Miss Noir."

"I'll see you! Bye!"

( ᵦᵧₑ~ _ᵇʸᵉ~_ ₛ𝓌ₑₑₜ ₜₕᵢₙ𝓰 ʙʏᴇ~)

She was able to hang up just as Bone Daddy found his way to her table, sliding in beside her with ease. Chose the big booth for a reason. 

"Miss Francine," he greeted warmly, and she could just melt into the floor. Fuck. 

"Good afternoon, Bones."

"Looking a little worn."

"Is that how you open a conversation with every pretty girl here?"

He laughed, pulling out a cigarette box. Only upon her nod, and not a beat before, did he pull one out and light up, something she was hopelessly fond of. Gentlemen were hard to come by, and she never got tired of the several in her life. "Don't mean to be rude, just feelin' worn myself."

"Is everything alright?"

"More than alright, I like it when it's busy..."

"But?" she supplied, and he took a long drag.

"But is right, I suppose. Been a busybody yourself?" he asked, to which she could only shrug.

"You know I don't get up to much," she said simply.

"Know you get up to more than you tell." Bones said, a ghost of a grin forming.

**For better or worse.**

"Well don't say it like that, I don't! Really, just been on social calls all day; it's nothing. But, it does remind me!"

With only a _little_ flourish, Francine produced the last item from her basket. 

"Peanut rolls! For you, just because."

"Just because what?" he asked, awful cheeky.

"Just because I like you, Bone Daddy, hush. Caramels salted since your sweet tooth didn't make it to Opportunity, I think you'll really like them!"

"Of course I'll like them, Francine, haven't made something I don't yet," he said, oozing something warm and genuine. "Thank you."

"It's no trouble--"

"Don't you start with that, busy bird. Know how long and how fussy carmel is to work with, and I really appreciate it. _Thank you._ "

Francine wondered if her (oh-so-famous) pouty lip translated on her new body. The way he was smiling at her, she thought it might. 

"You're welcome," she said, clipped, and it got him laughing. 

"There it is. Can't stay too long, still lots to do, but-- You eaten lunch?"

Dear fucking god.

"Um."

Bone Daddy stretched out a hand, waving a free waitress over as he rose.

"I'll see you soon, Miss Francine. Till then," he said, aiming the ladder half to the waitress "Take care of my girl, hm?"

_shh-comfort-love-safe-shh-content-love-calm-shh_

Francine blinked, unsure. Bone Daddy had left, and the waitress shifted on her hooves, looking unsure and confused.

"I'm sorry?" Francine asked, glancing around. Hm. 

"Can I help you pick something, or..?" the woman asked, and Francine shook herself. Airhead today indeed.

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry darling--"

She ordered something light, and ate quickly to be off as soon as possible. Best get home, have to fix her face before going out for the night.

Fix her feathers? Hm. Much to think about in the cab home. 

To her great relief and excitement, Tipsy was trotting up to her building just as she climbed out of the taxi, and yelped happily upon seeing her. 

"Good afternoon, handsome boy!" she said, as he ran a happy circle around her skirt. She let the both of them inside, and he ran ahead of her. 

"Goodness, look how scruffy you are! Had a busy day?" He yapped again, and she laughed as she pressed the elevator button. "My my! You'll have to settle for me when we get up, get you a bath."

She wasn't sure if Tipsy could always understand her, but there was no mistaking to look he shot her, head bowed.

"Oh. I see."

He wasn't sleeping with her covered in mud, and he ought to know that. 

The elevator dinged open. 

An hour and a half of dog-wrangling and puppy bathing later, Francine and Tipsy laid on the floor on the living room floor. Tipsy was now fluffy and clean. Francine smelled like wet dog.

"Brat."

He sighed, dramatic, and someone laughed from the doorway. 

"Valentine! Scared me," she said, jerking up. He shrugged, kicking the door closed behind him. 

"Should I have knocked?"

She laid back down on the floor, out of energy. Tipsy licked her beak, and Valentine plopped down next to her.

**Poor thing.**

"You're okay?" he asked softly. She nodded.

"Just tired."

"Thought you were staying home today?"

She whined. 

"Have to be out by six, and I know my feathers aren't going to dry in time if I take a bath now..."

And she had to take one. And time was only ticking by, making the issue worse. And she _still_ didn't get up. Valentine hummed in sympathy.

"You could use the air dryer--"

Francine whined again, louder. 

"I could show you how to use the ar dryer again, it's no trouble."

"No, no it's alright, should relax. Know you've been busy..."

He stood, offering out a hand to her. Francine accepted, letting herself be pulled up. 

"I'm never too busy for you, Noir. Go on, call me when you're ready, okay?"

Softie. 

Francine nodded shuffling off to the bathroom. 5:30. Goodness, should know better than to waste time like that...

Come time, she only hesitated a beat before calling for Valentine, dressed up to her underskirt. Gentleman he, he kept his eyelight up anyway. He explained the switches and setting again, wonderfully simple, still sailing over her head, and took in a step further, helping her ruffle and dry her down. 

"You gonna' tell me about your day or not?" He asked, as they were finishing. He sat on a stool behind her, working the tight feathers along her spine. Perfectly patient and mild, as if sensing her need for it. 

"I'm not done yet..."

"Still going?"

"Business and pleasure both, if you can believe it... Valentine?" she asked.

"Mhm?"

"Do I look worn?"

He set the dryer down, and she braced for the worst. His fingers kept carding through her feathers.

"You know I think you're beautiful, Francine."

And just like that, she had enough energy for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They? Hello? Though not the longest section of the work, her and Valentine are just...wrow. Fweinds


	16. More Mob Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> okay listen I understand this chapter should have come first, sue me.

Queensly's always liked her legs. 

Bitch had miles and miles of them, tucked neat into greased stockings, thrown over his desk or lap, perfectly shaped and always pleasant under the hand. Right now, they were all he could see.

It'd be nice if he wasn't getting his face caved in. 

A goon's wingtip dug into his skull, grinding him into the concrete with vigor, and Queensly was able to open his mouth for one-half a remark before another shoe buried itself in his ribs. Unable to convulse with the pin on his head, he lamely spat out blood with a sickly heave. 

Fingers trembled, lungs heaved, his throat let out a garbled whine without his permission. He'd be fine until he wasn't. 

Why the fuck was she here. 

Another hard kick, glancing off his jaw and landing in his throat.

Why the _fuck_ was Lilith here. 

He tried speaking, choking on the words before they made it out. Her red pumps twitched, but of course it wasn't for him. 

The pressure on his head let up, and he was able to hear several pairs of steps retreating. Dogs didn't stay brave in the presence of their--

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Joker."

He knew who the fuck it was without having heard it before. Fought with the man's influence, nipped at his heels, collected scraps that fell off the table of his attention. Hm. Guess that made Queensly the bitch. 

Lilith shifted again, falling behind the new pair of legs, and Queensly snarled into the gore spattered concrete. No. No, she was still the bitch.

"You'll have to excuse my boys, they get excited easily. You've been quite the thorn for someone so green, I'd almost be impressed, if not for..."

New legs kicked softly at his hip, enough to get Queensly to roll over painfully. Viktor was off-center in his swimming vision, and Queensly made no effort to look at him properly. Doing so would bring her into frame too, and he still wasn't sure what to make of her presence here.

"Well. Even the spryest upstarts can't keep up when my attention is caught. You should be proud for making it as long as you did."

There is something deadly in his tone, and Queensly can hear his own ragged breath pick up tempo. He'll last until he can't. He's always lasted until he can't.

_Whrrr click click._

He'll last until he can't, and it might not be long against a revolver. 

"Angel, come here."

The sound of her heels clicking on concrete.

"Take care of this for me."

"I--"

"Not now honey, had a long day. Take care of this for me."

Lilith steps into view a beat later with a perfectly blank face, looking down at him through her lashes. She has the gun, and in turn his last few moments, in her hand.

She seems bored as she spins it again, and Queensly's never been on this fucking end of her and he doesn't like it at-fucking-all.

_Whrrrr click._

Again.

_Whrrrr click._

Again.

"Lilith."

Queensly wishes he were the one to say it, but he isn't. Viktor does, in the tone of a parent scolding a child.

_'Stop playing with your food, honey.'_

She cocks it, keeping her eyes locked in his as her finger finds the trigger. 

He waits. 

And waits.

And waits.

And finally has to fucking blink, because she's got him on a silver fucking platter and is just _staring,_ the only noise in the building his fucked up lungs. 

Viktor, presumably behind her, sighs.

"I was worried about this," he drawls, seemingly unconcerned with the implications of his conclusion. "Give me the gun, sweetheart."

She finally waivers, grip tightening on the gun. But it doesn't go off. And Queenslys brain doesn't paint the concrete, and he knows she's just as fucked because of it. 

"Viktor, I can--" she tries, voice tight. 

"No, no, it's okay. I understand." Viktor cuts in as he moseys into Queenslys view, looking almost as bored as Lilith was trying to be. "I'm not angry, pet. Gun."

He holds out a hand, and Lilith returns the colt. He smiles at her, fond, understanding, gentle. 

Her eyes flick down to him, and she's immediately cracked in the head with the gun, crumpling to the floor like a doll. 

Queensly doesn't have any sympathy for the psychopath, but he winces for her anyway.

"Joker, I hope you've found some lesson in all of this, even if it's only staying away from what's mine," Viktor says, tucking away the gun once more. "Now, if you'd like to reflect on anything else, be my guest; it might save what's left of your life and me an evening. Must be off--"

His eyes cut away for a second, and a brief flash of annoyance crosses his face. "There's still plenty to handle tonight."

And then he's gone, exiting Queensly's hazy line of sight. A few of the dogs tail after him, and though he can't hear her exit, he hears dragging.

He's alone.

He's alone, beat to shit, and not sure how he just survived. 

But. He is sure of one thing.

Fucking _bitch._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What weird fuckers.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whoops! Who are these fuckers!

Big events made most security bots nervous.

The staggering amounts of people meant staggering amounts of variables to monitor, movements to catch, data to sort. Red carpet events were staffed with only the best of the best, even, and it was still standard practice for security to carry at least one patch kit. One pinched wire or overtaxed circuit would inevitably lead to a whole system crash in such a high-stress environment and should be tended to immediately.

Axiom couldn't say it had ever been a concern for him. 

Despite just how much he was looked down on when mingling (not that he ever truly _mingled_ ) with other security mecha, Axiom never had the issues they insisted were standard for their shared profession. Also something that made him less popular among his peers, and another non-concern for his list. He wasn't here for the blurry mob of Hollywood elites, so far below his radar they didn't make a blip. Non-interesting, non-threatening, nothings.

His reason towered above them all like the caryatid they were, flashing their perfect smile again and again on cue as they were meant to at frivolous events like this, a fish in water. 

An eye lingered on their smile.

A shark in water.

Their height, while often spoken of in clipped, frustrated remarks of distaste by either the ever accommodating camera crew or set bees, served its purpose well. Vixxy was leagues above the rest. Fitting, and highly beneficial for keeping an eye on them. 

But.

But something wasn't right.

He quickly zoomed out, focus on their face to check for what had their attention. They'd been doing so well, perfect even, it was a shame.

Axiom blinked, surprised at the answer. He was very rarely surprised.

Vixxy grinned their showstopping grin, eyes fixed on him from across the massive venue. 

Hm.

A nothing flittered over to them, begging for attention and small talk, and Vixxy obliged, as they were meant to. 

Not before their grin stretched, eyes still locked with his (most all of his, anyway) and winked.

Axiom woke, startled. 

Recharge wasn't something he needed often, and as such, didn't see the need in indulging. He didn't find it enjoyable, itchy without his reason and wretchedly nervous when waking, even if they were asleep themself somewhere close. 

He was not itchy now, nor was he nervous. 

Axiom was just. 

He just.

He resolved to ignore the first several system warnings about depleted levels the next time they popped up. It would only buy him a few more weeks, with a loss risk of up to 16% efficiency, but it would be worth it. He didn't like dreaming much at all.

************

Something was wrong. 

Something had to be wrong, because Vixxy knew better. Axiom _knew_ they knew better, and again and again, they just. They.

His hand was twitching. He couldn't usually feel it, but there was just so _much_ wrong with the scene in front of him. 

Vixxy sat (wrong) alone at a table (wrong), sullen and staring into their glass (wrong wrong wrong). They were at an event, he had no idea what could possibly elicit such a reaction. They were at an _event_ , he had no idea what could _keep_ them so very out-of-character for so-very long. 

A nothing wandered up, delighted and worshipping (as they all should be) and was quickly shooed off. Not a smile, not a word, not a glance. 

Axiom could scream. 

Weiss, the fickle savior that he was, took notice after another half hour and moved in. Axiom devoted more of himself to the ensuing conversation than he should have, desperate for respite.

"Vixxy, baby," Weiss greeted, making Axiom cringe. Savior or not, he held no fondness for the man. "I haven't seen you anywhere on the floor tonight."

"Hm."

"Oh, what? Don't tell me you're still mad--"

"I'm not mad--"

"You're pouting."

"I changed my mind! I am mad!"

"Well, stop. You're not allowed to stew all night," Weiss said, mana from heaven. Vixxy snarled, bunching the tablecloth in one fist. "I already apologized."

Of course this would be his fault. 

"Did you?" Vixxy snaps, standing suddenly. Weiss startles, taking several steps back. "I think I would have remembered that! I think if I heard _anything_ come out of your mouth that sounded like an apology, I'd never stop playing it over in my head! Fuck, might ask Axiom if he could get me a hard copy of it."

At the reminder of his existence, Weiss quickly scans the perimeter of the massive hall, relief palpable when his eyes finally find Axiom.

Axiom takes it as his cue to begin a careful approach, though he's not yet sold on his necessity. Weiss has been twitchy since last March. 

"Once! I would _love_ for you to consider my personal schedule _once_ before slapping my name on an RSVP! Not even-- If that's beyond you, just _tell_ me when you do! Is that so hard?"

Their voice is meant to be heard, lovely but booming, powerful yet pleasing. Right now, it works against him and Weiss, trying not to draw a scene. Axiom can't hold it against them, finally at the proper volume for the first time tonight. Weiss might. 

"I did tell--"

"You told me an _hour_ before I-- I--"

(Wrong.)

They weren't meant to stutter. 

Vixxy slumps (wrong) back into their chair (wrong), and Weiss visibly lets go of a breath (just a touch pathetic). Axiom stops his approach. 

"All done?" he asks, and Vixxy huffs.

"Yes, I'm done," they reply, "No thanks to you."

"Look," Weiss tries, "A lot of A-listers didn't show, I think tonight's a bust anyway. You could bounce early if you _really_ don't want to be here, okay?"

The tightness of Vixxys shoulders agrees that his proposal is a pathetic cover. They nod anyway.

"Thank you, Weiss," they say, quietly. Axiom immediately pings their limo, timed down to the second. "Axiom?"

He steps into position. Vixxy doesn't spare a glance, just as they should. 

As a pair, they exit the massive building and slide into the waiting car. Door shut behind them, Vixxy wastes no time throwing their long legs over Axioms lap, slumping low into their seat. It's standard enough practice he doesn't usually mind but after this particularly trying night, it makes him twitch.

It's this twitch, perhaps, that catches their attention.

"Axiom?" they ask quietly (wrong wrong wrong _wrong--_ they shouldn't address him at all, or at the very least, not like this). He says nothing. "Do you like going to these things?"

Not a question he is, or will ever be equipped to handle. His reason goes to things like the now fading gala, so he goes too. 

Vixxy has never needed much input.

"I do. I _love_ them."

As they should.

"But..." they sigh, soft, tired, despairing. 

(Wrong, wrong, wrong.)

"But I had so hoped to have this one night... Pulled some major strings to keep it clear, and he pulls this on me."

Nothing is on their schedule, official or otherwise. Vixxy isn't the type to covet downtime, and Axiom is confused.

"You had plans?" he asks.

 _Yes._ The tension in their posture says, grouchy. _Yes, yes, yes._

"No," they say, perfectly casual in their lie. "It's a matter of respect."

It's going to eat at him until he deactivates. They're lying to him, and he doesn't know why or what about or why they don't trust him or--

They bark out a laugh, a mean sound with all the tension they're carrying, and rub their leg against his tense chest.

"And, of course--" they purr, dripping with insincere honey, "Now I won't be getting my fill of quality time with you, handsome."

What has to be a glitch makes his throat freeze. 

When he finally sorts it out, he's lost their attention; they stare out the window, bored and unblinking. He decides he does not like pet names.

************

Sometimes, when he has the time to devote thought to it, Axiom wonders if other security bots held the same reverence for their wards. Part of not mingling meant he was a little uninformed in such areas, but he wasn't unobservant. Far from it, but what he's managed to piece together from scraps over the years is less than encouraging. 

But then, his resources were biased and imperfect. He wasn't _just_ security, was he? Hardly fair to compare. 

Vixxy wasn't Axioms ward, though at times they did need a guiding hand. They were his reason. He was fond of the concept on days like this.

His reason was an olympian, paragon of endurance and grace alike. His reason was incredibly frustrating, stressful, and prone to malfunction on their worse days (increasing in number as the months went on), but today wasn't one.

Beginning at 4 in the morning, Vixxy Voltz has been above and beyond expectations. Current time reading 9:53 p.m, Axiom is beyond delighted. When they're just right, he can be just right, so they can be just right. 

"Vixxy! You wouldn't be so cruel as to leave us without a hint for the new season, would you?" a noting with a microphone presses, and they laugh, head thrown back (47° _exactly_ ), hand coming up to their mouth (thumb on bottom lip, not covering or blocking).

"Oh!" they gush through a stifled giggle "Naughty thing, looks you'll have to go home hurting tonight-- You should know I don't do spoilers."

Vixxy isn't permitted to tease the new season until the final episode is through editing, good.

"But!"

But?

They pop a hip, feigning thoughtfulness. The gathered crowd yammers, eating from their hand. But _what._

"There's no need to worry-- do I _ever_ leave you wanting?"

Playful, endearing, just the right amount of hip movement to avoid a meeting with Weiss. The reporters love it. They're a marvel to watch in motion. 

But-- But they do something that surprises him. He doesn't like surprises from them. 

A toss of the head, and their eyes find him, dazzling grin still cutting their face in two. They wink.

He glitches, warm in the chest. 

When he's able to center himself, Axiom is mortified to find a slip on his part, having fallen too far behind his reason as they mosey down the red carpet. While he's able to rectify the mistake in a few quick strides, his mood is ruined for the rest of the night. 

************

"Posture."

It's not something he does often, anymore.

Vixxy had asked him to stop years ago, and in his nativity, he'd agreed. He wasn't in the mood to humor them now though, and they were slouching.

"Excuse me?" they ask, more confused than he'd expected. It had been too long.

"Posture," he repeats, firmer in himself this time. This is was he's meant for. Vixxy blinks, and he's feeling _something_ today. He corrects them, physically corrects them like he did when they were shiny and new, and their eyes only get wider.

He's prepped and ready for a fight. 

Today's been awful for the both of them, his reason, for _whatever_ reason, tripping, again and again, making him trip, again and again, and Axiom is willing to fight this time, to dig his heels in and _fight._ This is what he's meant for. 

But, wonderfully, (terribly), he's surprised. Only Vixxy can surprise him. 

They smile at him, utterly exhausted, perfectly brilliant. It's not how they should smile, nowhere close, wrong. Something warm blooms across his chest, because it's the same smile they gave him the very first time he helped them down a set of stairs. 

He feels like he's glitching, and he hates it.

"Thank you," Vixxy says, too genuine, and Axiom wakes with a start. 

This isn't normal, and he needs to figure out what to do about it, _fast._


	18. Haha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so.

"Mr. Clubs?"

Queensly is on his feet in less than a second, knot tight in his chest. 

"Yes?" he asks, voice sounding strange to his ears. "Is she--"

"Fine." the nurse interrupts, and he could fucking cry. Again. "She's out of surgery and holding stable, but there's still a lot that could go wrong. As of right now she's in and out; Dr. Madison wanted to ask what her type of allergy was to morphine."

"It's--"

She's okay.

"Um--"

Lily's okay, and an hour and a half ago she was _dead._ He's been here for more than four, and she's been _poor_ and _critical_ and _failing_ and _dead_ but now she's okay and he might actually cry again. The nurse stands, patient in front of him, as he tries to collect himself.

"If non-lethal, or a surplice reaction, Dr. Madison felt the next best course is putting her down for a while, despite the concussion." she continues, giving him time. "She's in a lot of pain, with the morphine we'd be able to negate that in a way hydrocodone simply can't, and if it acts as a depressant, all the better."

"She's awake?" he asks, instead of saying anything useful.

"Yes sir, but she's not currently able to see anyone in her--"

"I need to talk with her."

"You can't."

"No, no I _need_ to talk with her you don't understand--"

"I understand her _condition,_ Mr. Clubs, and I'm _telling_ you that you aren't allowed to see her at this time."

Queensly hated that he still carried the thing on him. Damn useful thing made him sick every time he had to use it, no small part due to how vocally Lily hated it the same. The nurse's eyes went round. 

"Mrs. Gould is a witness of the state, under the states protection, A class. I'm her handler, and I _need_ to speak with her, _now._ "

"I--"

Queensly shoves the badge into her hands, snarling.

"Show it to whoever you have to!"

And the poor woman scampers off, presumably to do just that. Queensly knows it'll clear every check they have, the badge being the real-deal he'd swiped off Lily's actual handler years ago. He'll feel bad later. Right now, he needs to be next to her, to see her, to touch her.

(She _died_ ; not two hours ago she was _dead)_

He clenched his fists to keep them from shaking, staring at the door the nurse had fled from, willing her to go faster. 

She reappeared, eyes just as wide, and he didn't wait for her word to start walking. She stumbled slightly before taking the lead, guiding him through the wounded many. He fucking hated hospitals. 

Several hallways later, he was stopped in front of a door with a hand on his chest.

"I'd like to ask that you do _not_ stress her-- her condition is _delicate,_ Mr. Clubs. She may be awake, but she is hurting, and if she becomes distressed or frightened it's not uncommon for patients on her cocktail to have clonic seizures. She's already had two on the operating table."

The knot in his chest winds tighter. He nods.

"The door stays open."

Queensly nods again. He can see her silhouette through the frosted glass, and he's positive his hands are shaking now. 

"I understand," he chokes out.

Lips pressed thin, the nurse unlocks and opens the door for him, and Queensly rushes in.

And freezes.

Because she's there, blinking curiously at him through a fucking awful black eye. 

"Queensly?" she slurs out after a long moment, voice broken and small, and he's on her side in an instant, tentatively cupping her face in one hand. He can barely see her pretty face through the discoloration. She can't sit up, chest in ribbons and bandages, one arm won't stop shaking, breaths coming in short, pained gasps.

It's miles above how he found her in the house, and that alone terrifies him. 

"Fuck," is all he can manage to gasp out, and she laughs airly. Kid's on a powerful cocktail of drugs, and the movement still makes her wince, choking on a whine. "Hey, honey no, take it easy, it's okay."

"What?" she asks, in that special 'I have a concussion' way. 

"We're in the hospital, honey," Queensly says, gently (so gently) sitting next to her. He brushes her bangs back, and she hmms softly.

Lily says something utterly incomprehensible.

"What?"

"My name?" she asks, blinking pathetically up to him.

"It's Lily?"

She shakes her head, and the movement brings tears to her eyes, and Queensly is all over her, shooshing and soothing and telling her to "Fucking stay _still,_ Lily."

"Sunny."

"Kid, I don't know what you're--"

"She thought my name was Sunny, Queensly," she snaps, sounding for all the world like she isn't immobilized in a hospital bed. What can he do but nod, as if it made any sense.

"I asked her who Sunny was and she looked at me and-- Mommy! That's you!"

"Kid--"

"She's so smart, Queensly, what other four-year-old knows mommy and daddy have names but-- _fuck_ \--"

"Lily, fucking stop moving, _please--"_

"And she said Daddys name is Nero, and your name is Sunny, right Mommy? Because that's what Nero calls me, right? I'm Sunflower, I'm Sunny, and that's all she'd heard and--"

Lily hiccups, trying to sit up, and Queensly can't in good conscious let her, but she's hurt _everywhere,_ holding her back is complicated. 

"And I told her my name was Lily and she-- she said it's nice to meet you! I hope--" she crying, and he doesn't know how to fucking help her. "I hope I love you as much as I loved Sunny Queensly where _is_ she I told her it was okay where _is_ she I need her where's my baby please I need-- I said it was okay she's gone Queensly I don't I can't--"

When she starts yelling, so does he. A nurse is on her just as she starts jerking, desperate and scared and so fucking hurt, and Queensly is being shoved out of the room. 

"Lily!" he shouts over the mob, because this couldn't have been for nothing-- he won't let it be. "She's with Nero! She's with Daddy-- Fuck! Peony's safe!"

It's a lie he doesn't have a shred of evidence for, not yet. 

Lily, delirious and drugged and _hurt hurt hurt_ locks eyes with him from across the room, lucid as she's ever been. He nods, once, and her eyes flush with pure relief. The door is slammed in his face. 

He doesn't make it back to the lobby before he's crying again, utterly relieved, and beyond terrified he just lied to her. 


	19. Choking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get! To the end!!!

“ _Johnny_.”

By the time he’s turned around, Ace has already landed heavily on his knees, and Johnny all but jumps his desk to come to the rescue. He’s unable to get a word out before arms wrap around his middle, pulling him in, and a moment later he can feel Ace press into his stomach. 

Even without the connection, the trembling would be obvious. Big guys had this in the works for months. 

“Ace,” he tries gently, fingers carding through the mans hair “Ace, can you look at me?”

Nothing. When his fingers ever-so-slightly tighten, coaxing his head back, the eyes that meet his are tear blurry, and unfocused. He didn’t come to Johnny for comfort, he came to just _hold on_ , what little self preservation he had pushing him to seek out the eye of the storm. Johnny could be that for him. It was something, at least. 

Poor fucking things exhausted, eyes fluttering with the lightest of touches across his cheek like he might pass out then and there, on his knees.

It’s been hard to watch, these past few months. Ace had always been prone to paranoia, always looking over his shoulder, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s been... diffrent, here lately. More tangible. Certainly had begun tangibly effecting most all the relationships in his life, bare minimum. Now, months in, and several supports down, Johnny was beyond glad Ace still had the wherewithal to come to him— to crawl, if he had to. And he had crawled, hadn’t he?

He’d been accused of playing with his food many a time. Fair. Playing the long-game on these kind of things could easily be mistaken for cruelty, but Johnny didn’t feel cruel. He was giving Ace what he needed, _desperately_ , in this moment. 

A hiccuping sob wracked through the poor man, and Johnny shushed him, murmuring assurances— despite knowing full well they were falling on deaf ears. Poor thing. When he wove, he wove precisely, carefully. Ace hadn’t stood a chance. 

Gently, ever so gently, he added his final string. 

“Everything’s going to be okay—“ 

And tightened it around his neck. 

“I promise, Ace. I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Web Johnny Web Johnny Web Johnny Web—


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relationships are hard when you're an asshole. And the person you're forming said relationship with is also an asshole.

"Kid, if I have to tell you to scram, _again_ , I'm gonna start going for my gun."

Queensly almost means it, too. The kid smiles, a wry, sharp thing, and he could groan.

"Not without that fucking McGuffin," she says, like he _knew_ she would-- the pest.

"I don't even have it on me--"

"You could go get it--"

"Why the fuck would I do that?"

Lily grabs his arm, and Queensly doesn't skip a beat before ripping it away. Unspoken or not, rules are rules; touching Queensly meant he quit humoring her and got the fuck out of dodge, something particularly easy to do in the square. She's been sitting on a ledge of one of the shop windows, and by the time she springs up, he's shifted and halfway down the block.

He surprises himself by looking back.

Lilys's on her feet, eyes wide and searching the crowd. There's something like a pout is tugging at her mouth, nose all scrunched up.

Despite himself, he smiles.

************

"Queensly!"

Motherfucker. This is what he got. 

"Queensly, wait up!"

Wore his face out for the first time in a week, and not 20 minutes later, he had a tail.

"Kid, I've got places to be," he says to the open air beside him. Within a few seconds, it's been filled with Lily's image, having caught up and now walking beside him.

"That's fine," she says, already smug. "Where are we headed?"

" _We're,_ " he says, pointing a finger between the two of them, "Not headed anywhere. I've got business."

"So do I, so if we could keep this quick, that'd be great."

"You've got business." he asks blandly, searching for a crowd to lose her in. She nods. "What kind of business?"

"The--"

"Well I have big-kid business, so fuck off, yeah?" he interrupts, and she slugs his arm. 

"Asshole! I do have other shit to be doing, you know."

"I never would have fucking guessed." He's being dead serious. They've been at this for months. "Don't you have a job or something? Sure seems like you spend a lotta time nippin' at me."

"I _had_ a job," she says, arms crossing, "But then you fucking swiped the prize before I could--"

"Trip the security system? Get arrested? Get fried?" he snips, and her arms cross tighter. "You wouldn't have made it past the first hurdle, Kid, don't even play. Not my fault you suck."

"You're being a dick."

"You're being annoying."

"I need that stupid fucking--"

"Kid, I'm not _giving_ you--"

"You don't understand--"

"I don't fucking _need_ to--"

"I could take it," she says suddenly, loudly, stopping on the sidewalk. He really shouldn't, but he stops too. 

"You think you can take it?" he asks, rocking back on his heels as he spins to face her. He can't help the smile, and Lily fidgets under it. "You think you can take it, from _me?"_

In her first wise move of the day, the kid doesn't say anything, bracing. Queensly could laugh. He _does,_ and it has the intended effect of making her flinch.

"You couldn't fucking swindle it out of the picklock it was in-- but you think you can take me? Really? Because _I_ think--"

He takes a meaningful step forward, and she takes one back.

"You keep trying all this cute shit--"

'Cute' was pushing it, honestly. Even if it was sort of fun now and again. Another step forward.

"Because you're a smart kid, and you know _exactly_ what's gonna happen if you try and take _shit_ from me, don't you?"

She's snarling, mean little fangs on sharp display, but it loses all effect backed into the wall like she is. He pops her cheek, head cocked, mean smile fixed. 

"Yeah. You do."

And then he backs off. She takes a few big breaths.

"You're such a dick," she settles on, and it makes him laugh again.

"You don't have to stick with me."

She twists up a face, shaking her head.

"You don't get it." she says, and she's right. He doesn't. Then, "So, where are we going again?"

He doesn't need to get it. 

************

"What are you doing?"

Queensly almost drops his fucking gun.

"What the fuck!" he snaps, turning to face the kid, now perched up on a dumpster, where she _wasn't_ a couple of seconds ago. Maybe? He hadn't heard her hop down, but he had bigger things distracting him. "Don't fucking do that, Kid!"

"Are you hurt?" she asks, eyes round. His lips press thin.

"Scram."

"You look hurt."

"Is my scram button not working or something--"

"And I've never been able to sneak up on you before, either."

Something hits him. 

"Do I know you?" he asks, and it's her turn to frown, rolling her eyes.

"Don't do that," she says, hopping down next to him. "I know it's you, Queensly."

"You're a menace and I hate you." he snarls, with a venom behind it that isn't meant for her. Doesn't stop her from inching closer, frown twisting with something that looks a little too much like concern for his taste. 

"Seriously, your um. Your shirt." Is soaked through, and only getting worse. She's always been great at pointing out the obvious, but looking down at it again makes him woozy. Fuck. "Queensly?"

He grunts, and makes an executive decision, shoving the gun into her hands. Needs both of his free, and he sure as shit can't shove it back into his pants right now. Lily yelps, then sputters as his hands dive for his belt. 

" _Queensly_ \--"

"Shove it, Kid," he snaps, untucking his shirt and starting to rip at the bottom edge. "Unless you want to help, just shut up for a second, okay? I'm fine, and it'll be fine--"

Queensly manages to undercut himself by taking off his shirt, revealing a worse-than-it-looks shot through his collar. Lily shifts, nervous, and he shoots her a weak smile. Doesn't know why he feels the need to reassure her, but he's focusing on dressing the wound now-- no need to dwell on it. 

He's sort of shit at this, but getting better. She still looks sick when he puts what's left of his shirt back on, not but a few minutes later.

 _'I'm fine_ ' says his meaningful glance when he takes back his gun. 

"Thought you'd be better about a little blood," says his mouth, and he mentally kicks himself when she winces. That's probably a microaggression or something. "You can scram now."

"Can't, haven't done my due diligence," she says, shifting on her feet. They do this every time, and he lets himself groan.

"We're getting into this? Really? _Now?"_

"I need it--"

"No, you fucking don't, now take a hike," Queensly snaps, not in the mood to play their game tonight. Fucking hurts.

"It's not even worth that much--"

"Save me the sales pitch, you're not getting it."

Lily grabs his arm, frustrated enough to push her past the nerves, and they go through the motions again. This time it involves a good fucking shove, for good measure. The kid doesn't learn.

Several blocks later, when passing a shop window, he has to amend that thought. He isn't himself right now. Features sharp and chiseled, several inches taller, eyes voided and sunken. She's learning to pick him out. 

Great.

For now, though, he had bigger problems to deal with. 

************

She's in his fucking house.

He steps out of his room, groggy and ready to shuffle into the kitchen for stale coffee, only to freeze in the doorway.

The kid is in his fucking house, sitting up on the counter, and Johnny is leaned up opposite of her, smiling and chatting. Like that's a perfectly normal thing to do. He catches Johnny's eye, and the other man smiles, nodding to the girl.

"Morning, Queensly."

It's not morning. 

"Your friend's been waiting a while, and-- ah, sorta let herself in."

She is _not_ Queenslys friend, and he hopes it's abundantly clear in the way he all but rips her off the fucking counter. 

"Thanks for babysittin', Angel--" he bites out through her protests, and bullies Ace out of the way as he drags her back to his room. They'll be having a talk later. For now--

"What the _fuck_ are you doing here?" he snarls, once the door is slammed behind him. Still caught in his grip, Lily doesn't have the decency to pay attention, squirming and shoving at him. He squeezes 'cause of that.

"Kid, this little thing's gone from annoying to cute and back around a dozen times-- but we need to have a _serious_ boundary talk if you think poppin' up in my _house_ \--"

"Get _off_ me!"

Somethings _off_ in her tone; he drops her arm like it's on fire. 

She backs up immediately, looking cornered, looking _scared_ like he hasn't yet seen on her. Historically, Queensly has threatened to shoot her, gun in hand, and not received this kind of reaction. (Not his proudest moment, but she's a tough kid; he's always known she was a tough kid.)

A tough kid that might be having a panic attack in his room because of him, chest heaving, eyes wet. 

"Lily--" he tries, gentle as his shock lets him be.

And then she's out the window, racing down the fire escape.

Shit.

************

It's a few weeks without seeing her that makes him go looking.

After mastering how to pick him out, he's barely had three consecutive days rest from her badgering, and it's fucking creepy for her to have gone dead silent.

Queensly's not worried.

He doesn't miss her.

And he definitely doesn't feel bad for whatever the fuck happened in his apartment. 

He just wants to get a beat on her, that's all. 

It takes a day and a half of actual, concentrated effort to get a location, and not in the way he'd hoped. For all he loves his resources, getting an address slipped to him made his stomach churn. Hoped it would be more of a 'spotted at such and such store 20 minutes ago, probably not far now'. 

Queensly waits another week before knocking. 

Someone that is very much _not_ the little thorn answers the door, and he turns awkward faster than he thought possible. It's another fucking kid. Bedhead and all.

"Who are you?" he asks, sounding for all the world like he'd just woken up. 

"Does-- Uh." He doesn't even know Lily's last name. "Is Lily here?"

The question makes the kid ruffle immediately, and literally, wings fluffing up and rearing to block the doorway from view.

"Who's asking?" he snaps, suddenly sounding a lot more awake.

"A friend," Queensly tries, and he'll have to think on that later. Doesn't seem to be the right answer, as the kid's eyes narrow further.

"Fucking leave her alone," he hisses, and has the door slammed shut not but a second later. Well-- almost shut. Queensly (painfully) got a foot in before it got there, yelping and cussing up up storm. 

"Easy, tiger! You could have just said no--"

"Piss off--"

"I'm just fucking apologizing! Ow! Take it--"

"What the fuck are you two doing."

And there the pest herself is, standing incredulously in the hallway, watching the scene in front of her with crossed arms. 

Queensly backs off the doorway immediately, upset at himself for almost having gotten into it with a pup. Another one. 

"Can we talk?" Queensly asks loudly, as he shoots a look behind him. The doorman huffs, crossing his arms to match.

"Do you have something for me?" Lily asks, face and tone blank.

"You're kidding."

"Wish I was, slut."

Ridiculous fucking brat. 

"Come on," he settles on, ushering her back down the hallway; careful not to touch. She concedes easily, and Queensly's beyond relieved. 

As soon as they're out of earshot of the teen still in the doorway, watchful, her eyes roll to him. "This is fucking creepy, you get that, right?"

"I do," Queensly concedes as he presses the elevator down "But it also makes us even. At least I wasn't _in_ your house."

"There's such a big difference!"

"Mh."

"There is," she insists, nose scrunching. "You're a bonafide adult--"

"The hell does that make you then? Faux?"

Lily levels him with a look he isn't sure what to do with.

"Queensly?" she asks.

"...No," he says, horror creeping in. 

" _Queensly,_ " she repeats. "I'm 16."

"You're--"

"16."

"... _What?"_

"You've been calling me 'kid' for like six months now!" She's laughing, but he's horrified. He's pointed a gun at this kid. Like, _actual_ kid. A couple times, even. "I thought you knew?"

"I thought it was like-- I dunno! 19, 20-something-- not _16!"_

"How fucking old are you for 20-something to warrant 'kid'?"

"Shut the hell up-- this is off-topic," Queensly says, pocketing his shock for later. There was a reason for this visit, after all. "We gotta' talk, Lily."

"Hard to shut the hell up and have a talk at the same-- Ow!"

He'd popped her upside the head.

"You don't get a sass-pass just 'cause I know you're an actual teenager now."

She's laughing, and after a few beats chokes out a wheezing "Respect my elders?"

Queensly pops her again, and it only gets her going harder. 

Admittedly, he had missed this. Just a little. She was still awful. 

They settle in the courtyard just outside her apartment building, a shitty little thing with an equally shitty little fountain plopped in the middle like an afterthought instead of a centerpiece. He almost doesn't bring it up.

"Kid--" he starts.

"Lily," he corrects himself. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she answers, just a smidge too fast. "Of course."

"You quit comin' around."

"You made it explicitly clear, on a multitude of occasions, how much you don't like me tailing you," she says, leg bouncing. "Didn't think you'd mind if I _stopped_."

"For what happened in the apartment--"

"Nothing happened." she interrupts, leg bouncing faster. 

"It's fine if--"

"Yeah, it is fine. I'm fine, let's drop it."

He can let this one go, at least for now.

"You can come back if you want."

"What the hell was--"

"With _warning_ \-- just showing up is a big no-no. Go a lot of fuckheads under that roof, and all of them are armed."

"Even Johnny?" she asks. Queensly nods. Especially Johnny. She thinks on that for a while before continuing on to, "So what, you want me to knock or something?"

"Give me your phone-- you can call."

"I'll keep my phone, thanks. You can give me your number."

"I dunno how I didn't fucking peg you as 16 day one."

"Shut up, Queensly"

Lily lays her head on his shoulder.

Queensly can't say he minds.

************

**I am going to raid ur fridge.** _(sent at 3:14)_

 **\-- what? why? my fridge doesn't have your kind of go-juice in stock kid** _(read at 3:18)_

 **It's the principle of the thing, Queensly.** _(sent at 3:19)_

 **\-- i think you just say shit sometimes** _(read at 3:20)_

 **I think that u r wrong and that u should also let me in.** _(sent at 3:23)_

 **Queensly I'm here.** _(sent at 3:25)_

 **Queensly let me in.** _(sent at 3:26)_

 **Queensly I can see you reading these.** _(sent at 3:27)_

 **Queensly it's cold let me in.** _(sent at 3:30)_

 **\-- ZzZzZz** _(read at 3:32)_

 **Queensly!!** _(sent at 3:32)_

 **\-- haha, sorry, just think it's funny** _(read at 3:32)_

 **\-- can't come in without me lettin you** _(read at 3:33)_

 **That joke doesn't get funnier the more you tell it!! Let me in or I'm breaking your window again.** _(sent at 3:34)_

 **\-- cuz you're a vampire.** _(read at 3:34)_

 **AHHHG** _(sent at 3:35)_

************

It's nice like that for a while. 

Lilys's easy to tease, but smart as a whip, and can dish it just as easy. She still pushes it, _often_ , but he can appreciate that in a way. Even if it's fucking annoying when she brings up that stupid fucking rock.

They're folded into the couch one night when he finally thinks he's curious enough to ask. 

"Hey, kid?" he asks. Her eyes flick to him, but she's apparently too invested in disassembling the remote to give him full attention. Jack watches on from the kitchen, slight worry pinching at his glossy features, the other two sleepily bumbling behind him. "Why do you need it?"

"Hm?" she asks, ripping out another component. Jack winces. 

"The rock-- the um, the Eyrie--"

Lily goes still. 

"It's," she tries, sudden anxiety crossing her face. 

"You keep saying you _need_ it, right?" he presses, and she fidgets. 

"Um. It's complicated."

"Well fucking duh, kid, I could tell that much. C'mon, why the hell do you need an obscure-ass magic--"

Lily has gone very still, eyes locked on a new figure.

Lilith stands in the doorway of her room, looking as ghastly and as half-asleep as she's always been, but locked on Lily. Hm. Guess they haven't run into one another yet, Lilith usually being holed up or dead asleep.

"What are you doing here." she hisses, with a venom Queensly hasn't yet heard from her. They're not friendly, even, but there's something weird about the way the woman's braced. Lily cocks her head, slowly standing. 

"Lilith?" she asks. Lilith's fists clench and Lily starts laughing. "That _is_ you, isn't it Maneater?"

Lilith looks like she's been slapped.

"Kid," Queensly tries, lost. Ace has made himself known in the living room, glancing between the two girls. "Do you--"

"Don't call me that you-- you don't know _shit--"_ Lilith snarls over him.

"I know plenty! _Everyone_ knows, a guard you fucking shredded did a tell-all on dateline--"

"You don't know _anything_ about what I had to--"

"I'm pretty sure he was the one who fucking pulled you off the guy-- you fucked up his face pretty good-- remember? He sure fucking remembers you; it was a two-hour episode--"

"Shut _up shut up--"_

"He had this whole bit where he talked about how you used your teeth-- you should have _seen_ Dad's face when--"

Lilith screams, and then they're a tangle of claws and fangs and insults, and Queensly can't help but feel like he's fucking missed something. 

"You fucking _miserable_ little _bitch_ \--"

" _Bite me, psychopath!_ It's what you're _good at--"_

Ace is yelling, trying to pull Lilith out of the scuffle, and Queensly is just. Frozen. Until Lilith lands a hit, that is, that stuns the kid. And lands another one. And another, and another, and now fucking Queensly's in the fray too, hissing and yelling and getting her the fuck off of Lily, laid out on her back and bleeding. 

"You made a fucking _mistake_ dying! You get to deal with _me_ now, and I'll hurt so much worse you wretched fucking _afterthought--_ Get off me! Get _off_ me get off--"

Jacks in it now too, and with Ace, they're able to get her under control. Snapping, snarling, screaming, control. 

Queensly's on the kid in less than a second, propping her up. 

"Care to fucking explain _that?_ " he asks, wiping at her bloody nose. Fucking thing looks broken. 

"She's my big sister," she wheezes out, like that makes it all make sense. Christ.

************

Weeks later, it's still stuck on his brain. 

Queensly's used to seeing her showing up occasionally busted up, from, and quote, "Mind your damn business, slut", and that was normal. This wasn't. 

The nose did end up being broken, and Queensly himself set it for her, but there wasn't much else he could do. Lily made herself scarce again while she licked her wounds. Not gone completely, but scarce. Queensly was big enough to admit that he worried about her. 

"Kid?" he asked when he finally caught a bit of her time next.

"Hm?" she answered, acting like she gave a shit about the book in her hands.

"When d'you need to get?"

"Whenever."

"Mind if I follow you home?"

Silence.

"Why?"

"Think we should talk, 's all."

"We're talking now."

"Think we need to actually talk, smartass. In private."

She's eyeing him warily, but he doesn't care. She shrugs. 

"Fine. I think it's just Arrow at the house anyway."

"The mean one?" he tries, and is rewarded with a grin. 

"People call me the mean one," she says coyly, snapping the book shut.

"They're just not as bright as I am."

"I was gonna say the opposite, actually."

"You're so mean to me."

"Come on then, it's fucking cold out here," she says, burrowing deeper into her coat, and he swings to his feet to match.

"You get cold a _lot_ for someone essentially living in a temperature-regulated terrarium," he says, shrugging his own coat off for her.

"Shut the hell up," she says, muffled under the new layer, and it's his turn to laugh. 

"Ungrateful child."

"I hope you freeze, you old slut."

"Hey! Stacking them doesn't make them any more effective!"

" _Hey,_ " she whines, a goofy mock-up of his voice, and he pops her upside the head. Any and all ease is gone when she yelps, truly hurt, and winces away from him. 

There isn't much talk on the way home, after that. 

The other kid doesn't seem to be around when they enter, and Lily proudly takes up the entire couch. Queensly lets her, and his reward for plopping down on the floor in front of her is an affectionate nudge. Or a very soft kick, he can't really tell. Whatever.

"Lily?"

"Queensly."

He stalls for a while after that, and she lets him.

"Are you okay?"

"Really? We had to come here for this?" she says, slumping further into the couch. "I'm fine, Queensly."

"You get that I can tell when you're bullshitting me, right?"

"I'm great at bullshitting." she huffs, pulling a blanket over herself. "Fuck you."

"Kid, you get that I'm--"

What is he, exactly? Because saying he's fond of her isn't quite right. Saying he's worried isn't right, either. Lily, for as long as he can remember, has been just a little busted. It came with being a tough kid, it's how _he_ always was, in life. He'd never minded the odd black eye or bruised jaw, because he'd always assumed she'd just had a spat with some other street rat (and that just maybe the other guy had walked away worse.) 

But Queensly had seen her in a fight now. Her hands went directly over her head, defending, or sloppy shoves to try and wiggle out. It hadn't been a fight, it had been a fucking beatdown. 

"Why do you _need_ the Eyrie, kid. Ten words or less."

The question seems to take her off guard.

"It's complicated." she settles on lamely, tucking further into the blanket. 

"You've now got seven words to make it less complicated."

"It's vampire shit, can't."

"Bull-fucking-shit it is, kid! Thought you weren't even part of the court-- try harder than that."

"I don't have to explain shit to you."

"I'd love it if you did! I would _fucking_ love it if you graced me with an explanation on what the fuck your problem is--"

"I don't have a _problem--_ I'm handling it!"

"Sure doesn't look like you're handling it! Kid if someones hurting you let me know, okay? I can--"

"You can _what_?" she hisses, and something in her tone flags his attention. "So you can just; what? Fix it? Get me to _finally_ piss off? There are easier ways to get that, and you've had it since day one-- spelled G-U-N since you could never seem to figure it out--"

"For christ's sake, Lily--"

"Shut _up--"_

"I'm fucking worried! Okay?" he shouts over her, and it's enough for her to slump back. "I get that I suck at this and I _get_ you could use someone better but we're both just-- _here._ And I want to help, so fucking--"

He's lost all momentum by the time he chokes out the last few words, and it takes a deep sigh to recollect himself. 

"Just fucking. Tell me what's going on. We can work from there, okay?"

She sits, silent, for a long while. He's ready to take this defeat on the lip since hers is still busted. Then, a sigh.

"Okay. On one condition."

He already knows what she wants.

"Done."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This leads, naturally, to an explanation of some very nasty arm-twisting, court shenanigans, and stupid asshole bonding. But then, this is already a little long. Try and guess the One scene I knew I wanted to write from the get-go. Go on, guess.


	21. Cheap Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aw man.

He shouldn't.

The kid's barely scabbed over, despite Lilith playing nurse for two solid weeks now, raw and broken.

Queensly really, really, shouldn't. 

But he's a curious man, and despite living with her for almost 6 months, he's barely got a combined five minutes face-time with the pup. Getting a fix on her features would be enough of an excuse, if he's ever needed one. And Queensly could always use a bite.

The lady of the house stalked out of the medbay at an early 10, bedroom door clicking shut with finality. 

Jack slipped off shortly afterward, and Johnny pulled Ace out of his desk come 11, muttering about stress, and then it was two.

Tinman liked to stake out the commons. 

Because fate was feeling kind, Lilith made an early reappearance, shuffling out to her desk. Queensly slunk over, draping himself across her shoulders. If Raiden paid any special mind to him, he didn't show it in more than a glance.

"You miss me that much?" he asked, sly into her neck. He could _feel_ the lazy growl prickle across her, this way. 

"You're touching me," she huffed, making no effort to remove him. Been all bark since handling daddy, be a shame when she went back to usual. Till then,

"I'd keep my claws to myself if you let me keep touching, Babydoll; if you'd promise to do the same, then we could have a pretty fun--"

Lilith shoves him off with a snarl, snatching a folder off the desk. He slumps back into the office chair, grinning as she retreats back into her room. Back to two, and now, he has a clear shot.

From the new position, slipping into the medbay is easy. A yawn, a sidestep, a gentle catch of the door, minimizing noise. 

She looks like Lilith.

Of course the kid looks like her, _relation_ does that, but it's still interesting to see. Slipping into Lilith is easy, into Lily, some slight modifications need to be made. The hard frown line disappears, replaced with subtle acne around the hairline. No greys, but the blonde curls in irregular spots he's quick to put to memory. No, no a few strands of silver. Little things earned them. Scars, scars, scars. There are mountains of new and forming ones to find under each bandage, but Queensly knows better than to go digging. He'll get them, eventually. 

Incomplete, the skin doesn't feel like home, has an _itch_ to it, but Queensly can't say he minds terribly. Just part of the fun of breaking in someone new. 

He shouldn't. 

All it takes is a brush of the hair for her eyelids to flutter open, drug dark and blown wide.

The heart monitor spikes, _hard_ upon seeing him, and he could stop there. Not even hungry tonight, he doesn't need this. Even if it's sweet on the tongue. 

The grip in her hair tightens, and the poor pup doesn't have it in her to struggle, even as he looms lower, brushing their foreheads. He gets a pathetic little cry for the effort, and he could stop there, he really could.

(Privately, he's taking notes. He's never seen Lilith cry; this might be the best reference he'll be getting) 

"It's okay," he shushes, breaking in her voice. "I can take it from here."

Little hummingbird hearts going to break the fucking monitor, and he doesn't have to keep this going, he's not hungry, he doesn't need to be here.

But.

"Or..." he drawls, more affixed in her throat now. But he hasn't had a chance to test someone out yet. She'd be the perfect trial. 

"Or," he repeats, trying the voice out first for interest. Lily finds her flight, jerking away from him with another cry. Doesn't get far, daddy's little lame girl. 

" _Don't--"_

Queensly shushes her again, shifting in as he does. He thinks he's fond of the Whites, and their oh-so-similar eyes. Makes the trickiest part easy on him. 

" _Nononono--"_

He can cook something up good. He knows enough bout both girls to make it hurt, then _twist._ He gets as far as opening his mouth before she starts screaming. 

If he was nibbling before, he's choking now-- drowning in _'nonono'_ and ' _please I'm sorry please please'_ and, un-fucking-fortunately, _'I love you'_ . The hand in her hair jerks away, startled, and she doesn't stop, ripping at her I.V in an attempt to get away. That's. She's not supposed to do that. Queensly doesn't know what to do, or what he should do (or why he did _this_ ), but he _does_ know reaching out is a mistake as soon as he unconsciously tries. 

She hadn't stopped screaming for a beat, but she _wails,_ and his hand immediately flinches back. 

He needs to go. 

(Someone will hear her, he needs to _go_ )

Queensly just barely has the wherewithal to shift out of daddy dearest as he exits, brushing past Lilith as she rushes in. She doesn't spare him a glance. 

Ace, standing in the doorway of his room, keeps his eyes trained on Queensly the entire time he quickly slinks back into his room, shutting the door tight behind him. 

For the first time in a very long time, Queensly wonders if... If _that,_ was worth it, and finds himself without an answer. 

He shouldn't dwell on it. 

But.

But Queensly is a man (somewhat) made of shouldn'ts. Her eyes linger, and he lets them.


	22. Guard Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Trusted, Beloved)

**Are you in the states.** _(sent at 3:32 a.m)_

 **\-- yea** _(read at 3:32 a.m)_

 **Come over.** _(sent at 3:33 a.m)_

 **Now.** _(sent at 3:33 a.m)_

 **Please?** _(sent at 3:34 a.m)_

 **\-- be there in five** _(read at 3:35)_

************

Queensly was nothing if not a man of his word and very, very fast travel. 

The Gould residence was dark when he arrived and let himself in, and he made sure to make plenty of noise as he did. Peony slept like the dead, there was no chance he'd wake her. Her mother, on the other hand, had been on edge for the past several months-- and wouldn't hesitate to bury a knife in him before turning on the lights. He's learned this lesson quickly, and taken it to heart. Queensly was done scaring her.

Mommy didn't make an appearance, though, so he was left to wander to her room when all his shit was dropped. 

After checking his godkids room, of course. 

"Peony?"

Not even a twitch. Good.

Lily was sitting straight up on the bed when he eased his way in, and seemed distant as she regarded him.

"Mornin'," he greeted, casual as he could. She looked tired, and it pricked his worry. They'd all been a little... protective, since the incident. He was honestly surprised Nero had agreed to travel with his uncle at all, emergency or no. 

"Peru, right?" she asked, hoarse. Queensly nodded. "Right. I hope they-- they're going to be fine, class four's nothing-- I hope they talk."

And they certainly had a lot to talk about, didn't they?

Queensly wasn't sure what he was supposed to say.

"I told him to go, you know, so they could? Don't hold leaving against him, he needs this, and I'm fine."

She fidgets. 

Queensly sits down with her, and she's quick to grab his hand. He squeezes, and she shudders out a sigh.

"Lily?"

"Can you stay tonight, though? Please?"

He shrugs off his coat immediately, and she's quick to pull him down. Kid's gone and grown up without him, but he can, and _will_ , still do this for her. Think he always might.

Queensly's not sure how comfortable he is, or even if she manages to go to sleep at all curled into him, but that's not the point. Arms wrapped around her, feeling her gentle breath, her heartbeat, he makes a point to stay awake through the rest of the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man,


	23. If I could Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> huh? what?

_ 'If I could love you' _ is an older song used by music teachers to test their students on their ability to identify and replicate notes. The song, despite being simple in itself, offers more of a challenge than what most standard warm-ups can provide-- given its interchangeable tempo, melody, and octave range. The third repetition also requires a fair bit of prediction skill. The leader sets the rules the first verse, which the follow will match exactly in the second. The third verse, however, becomes a sort of game as the two sing together, each improvising within the set rules whilst attempting to harmonize.

**[Leader]**

_ If I could love you _

_ If you would let me _

_ Where might we be? _

_ What might it sound like? _

_ What would it feel like? _

_ What would we name it,  _

_ this thing between you and me? _

_ Oh, it would sound like, _

**[An improvised, three-bar melody]**

_ Oh, it would feel like, _

**[A secondary melody, four to five bars of the same octive]**

_ And together we would name it, _

**[Three notes exactly, jumping octaves and staccato]**

**[Follow]**

_ If I could love you _

_ If you would let me _

_ Where might we be? _

_ What might it sound like? _

_ What would it feel like? _

_ What would we name it,  _

_ this thing between you and me? _

_ Oh, it would sound like, _

**[The follow repeats the leaders chosen melody]**

_ Oh, it would feel like, _

**[The follow repeats the leaders chosen secondary melody]**

_ And together we would name it, _

**[Three notes exactly, jumping octaves and staccato, just as the leader sang]**

**[Leader and Follow, together]**

_ If I could love you _

_ If you would let me _

_ Where might we be? _

_ What might it sound like? _

_ What would it feel like? _

_ What would we name it,  _

_ this thing between you and me? _

_ Oh, it would sound like, _

**[An improvised, three-bar melody]**

_ Oh, it would feel like, _

**[A secondary melody, four to five bars of the same octive]**

_ And together we would name it, _

**[Three notes exactly, jumping octaves and staccato]**

_ I'll try to love you _

_ If you'll try and let me _

_ and together we might make a song _

_ lost and found and glowing _

_ for the whole world to see _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> weird, huh?


End file.
